Utterly Barbaric
by weatherwings
Summary: Experimental potions apprentice Hermione Jean Granger is running out of time, options and allies. Forced to make some of the most difficult decisions, only one certainty remains: She will never submit to the Ministry's insidious Marriage Law. Going on the run, Hermione is labelled a Ministry Malcontent and receives help from the most unexpected places. ENERGIZE W.I.P award nominee
1. Chapter 1 - Awakenings

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to our revered queen JKR; I just play with her creations every once in a while ;)

Author Note: First story, Reviews make me happy!

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It had always amazed her that every member of the Weasley family snored.

Hermione rose from the old wooden desk and shifted the heavy window of Percy's room open. The night was mild and the slight breeze still carried the heat of the spent summer's day.

Some nights, as Hermione sat engrossed in her research, she fancied they managed to snore in unison. She wondered how Harry had coped all those years cooped up in Gryffindor tower. Perhaps one Weasley wasn't too loud. Maybe the Burrow simply had fantastic- or terrible- acoustics. Sleep was hard to come by for her anyway, so she supposed the nocturnal symphony was doing no harm.

Moving back across the small room, Hermione curled up with her notes. She was so close to a breakthrough; she could feel it. She had run the calculations again and again. She knew her Arithmacy was right. She knew it could be done. Hermione Grange refused to believe there was no way to reverse her mistake. Prolonged deterioration of memory links after Obliviation _could _be overcome. Running her hands through her uncontrollable mane of hair, Hermione sighed. She could practically feel the bags forming under her eyes. If only she wasn't constantly tired, she knew she'd be able to think more clearly.

She'd woken up hours earlier at the mercy of another night terror. Yet again, Malfoy Manor merged with the Shrieking Shack and all her worst memories replayed themselves.

Well, her worst memories, and her greatest failures.

A year and a half after the final battle and Hermione still couldn't help but relive all her past actions and decisions. None more so than her choice in the Shrieking Shack.

* * *

There was no way she could have left him there.

Her austere potions master, the Order's trusted spy, the murderer of Albus Dumbledore. He didn't look like any of that. Just a man, twitching on the floor, high-collared shirt soaked in his own blood; Hermione Granger knew there was no way she could walk away.

She had trusted Albus Dumbledore, and so she trusted Severus Snape. While Harry leant over him to hear his last strangled breaths, Hermione dug through her tiny beaded bag. Looking at the small bottle of dittany, a wave of hopelessness threatened to wash over her. How stupid was she, to think she could pull this off. She could imagine Snape sneering down at her foolishness. Only he was shuddering on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack, long elegant fingers stained crimson red.

Taking in a deep breath, Hermione closed her eyes and kept the panic at bay. If only Dobby could come and save them now. But she knew full well that there was no help left.

Snape's breathing was becoming more and more erratic as he gestured to the pools of silver dripping down his face. His tears. Hands shaking, she conjured a flask and gave it to Harry. Hermione Granger, happy little house elf to the boy who liv-

House elf.

"KREACHER!" Her panicked shout pierced the tension of the room, and all eyes sparked to hers. Ron's confused blue ones, Harry's watery green, and Snape's empty black. She didn't have time of this. Reaching over she roughly splashed the dittany over the worst of the gaping wound before plunging her hand into her bad and pulling out a blood-replenishing potion. She cut off Snape's screams of pain (dittany was no walk in the park) and poured the purple potion down his throat, angling his mouth and forcing him to swallow. She was sure he would kill her later.

Kreacher appeared with a sharp crack, turning around with wild eyes and a pair of bloody butcher's knives held aloft. Her voice sounded alien to her as she belted out methodical instructions. This strained harsh tone couldn't be hers, surely…  
"Take him to the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey should be there. Make sure she treats him, Kreacher. Make them. Tell her to trust us, to trust Dumbledore. Make them. Then get the potion from St Mungo's that they made for Mr Weasley. Steal it, trick them, bribe them, whatever. Make sure you get it."

Kreacher's eyes were wide as saucers as he nodded furiously,

"Yes Miss Mudblood, right away". With a crack he and the limp form of Severus Snape were gone, leaving only a stir of dust and a puddle of blood.

Harry stood gaping at her, vial of memories clasped firmly in hand.

"He _murdered _Dumbledore. He, the school, Ginny and the Deatheaters- Hermione are you sure?" His tone lacked its usual hatred. The accusations just sounded tired and weary, like Harry didn't have enough energy left for hatred. Hermione simply bit her lip and nodded. Ron was still dumbly staring at the dark pool of blood.

"Right." Harry tiredly rubbed his scar and sighed. "I need the Pensieve. We need to go back to the castle."

They all nodded. Hermione tried desperately to mirror the determined faces staring back at her. As they made their way down the stooped tunnel, she did her best to ignore the blood coating her hands.

* * *

Her hands, however, still had his blood on them. Oh, everyone else lauded her actions, and sang praise at her compassion and mercy. What a fantastic victory for the Order that their trusted spy had survived. No harm, no foul, to use the Muggle expression. Oh they'd slapped him on the back and handed him an Order of Merlin, and with that he was out of their hair. Awkward situation averted, no guilt laid on anyone's conscience.

Except for hers, of course. Severus Snape had made it very clear she was to blame. Whether for his continued tortured existence, or the immense scarring, she was not to know. When she had tried to apologise he merely sneered and turned her away. She would always remember him lying in that hospital bed. The standard infirmary robes did nothing to hide the extent of his scarring. Neither did he. He merely glared at her horrified expression. Dittany was one of the most barbaric healing tools. He may have survived, but the once pale skin of his neck and jaw was nothing more than a ragged mound of scarlet flesh. They weren't as much scars as mottled rifts, and nothing Madame Pomfrey had tried would work on them. Hermione's haste had left him this way forever. She had robbed Severus Snape of his beautiful, silky voice.

Shaking her head tiredly, Hermione resolved to clear her mind. All that mattered were the notes in front of her. Dawn greeted her through the dusty windows and it wouldn't be long until the sun plunged them into yet another day.


	2. Chapter 2 - To hell in his own way

_I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way. _

**Robert Frost **

Severus Snape sat before his hearth enjoying his life's keenest pleasure. A bottle of Odgen's sat to his right and perched upon his knee was this month's copy of '_A Posse Ad Esse_.' The Latin might be commonplace but it was renowned for the absolute best articles on new experimental potions, with a few breakthrough charms occasionally gracing the pages.

He wasn't sure what it said about his life, that this was the highlight of his month. But he didn't really care either. It was, well, _nice_ to know he wouldn't be summoned in the middle of an article. He was free of both the megalomaniac and the chess master.

His life was small now, but he was content. He had never expected to survive the final battle, let alone to walk away from it with a full pardon for the atrocities he had committed, and an Order of Merlin to boot. Severus Snape still didn't understand what brought Kingsley to do it. It had cost the once revered wizard his position as Interim Minister. It seems the Ministry was all for having a War Hero calm the populace, so long as said Hero had absolutely nothing between his ears.

Naturally, Dawlish had become just the man for the job. Who could deny the long serving Auror who had faithfully served in not one but two Wizarding Wars? No one seemed to mention the time he'd run afoul of Augusta Longbottom. Still, the Ministry's stupidity was simply a constant of the Universe and failed to surprise him in the least.

After he was released from the Hogwarts infirmary, his first action was to burn down Spinner's end. It hadn't been as cathartic as he'd imagined, but it was a fitting ending for the hovel. He knew he could have sold it, for a pittance at least, but he couldn't bear the thought of a wizard buying it simply for the novelty attached; 'Home of the Traitor' - or spy, depending on the sympathies of the buyer. No. He was determined to see the squalid house go up in smoke.

The insurance company had been very generous. It was, after all, a Muggle property, and the stodgy company assessor didn't need much convincing as to the priceless medieval books contained inside the wreckage: A fairly simple Confundus Charm did the trick.

The cottage he'd acquired in its place was more than modest. Indeed Minerva, who insisted on periodically checking up on him, was shocked at the Spartan appearance of his new home. With only two rooms, it did strike one as a mark of poverty. Until, of course, they entered the basement. It put the dungeons of Hogwarts to shame. The extension charms had taken him a full two weeks, and now the lab was at least twice the size of his actual house. He'd sectioned it off, with half dedicated to his mail-order potions business, and half used entirely for his own research.

His research, he had to admit, was stagnating slightly. He'd had several research projects in the back of his mind ever since the Dark Lord's 'miraculous' return. He had tried to set them in motion again, but he simply couldn't muster the motivation. It was as much as he could do most days to get out of bed and fetch a bottle of Odgen's. He ignored all correspondence and his mail order business had a total of three independent customers. Narcissa, Minerva and Poppy. All of whom simply harassed him from the Floo Network when they needed a potion brewing.

But he was content. Everyone else left him alone. It was how he liked it. Sighing deeply he flicked open the journal and took a sip of the whisky.

A sip he promptly splattered all over the magazine. Growling, he perused the now-sodden article. A smiling picture of Hermione Sodding Granger waved up at him, unruly hair somewhat damp from his outburst. He read the article a full three times before he took any of it in.

_How dare she_.

The irony was almost cruel. The Article: _The refinement of Dittany through magical decantation_, would earn her an instant reputation in the Potion community. The breakthrough was seemingly unheralded. Never before had such an idea been published.

There was a reason for that though; Severus Snape had been too busy saving the fucking Wizarding World to get around to it. He'd come across the idea the Christmas of 1994. Searching to see what items had been stolen from the potions storeroom; he had come across a bottle of dittany that some foolish dunderhead had left the lid off.

Oh but he had written the idea down, saving it for eventual research. He'd scribbled it in his old potions textbook. It was the nearest bit of paper. And he knew for a fact that the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Stick-His-Fucking-Nose-In had gotten his hands on that book in his sixth year. Meaning know-it-all Granger had probably gotten her claws into it. Heaven forbid there was a book she hadn't read.

Severus clenched his fist around the tumbler of whiskey, slowly counting to ten to placate his rage.

Sipping his drink, he poured over the article critically.

_Hermione Granger, lauded as the brightest witch of her age and member of the famous Golden Trio, is currently employed as an intern in __St Mungo's Experimental Magicks Department. Her mentor, Healer Erik Sullivan has declined to comment on his assistant's breakthrough, but we understand from St Mungo's administration that the research is entirely Miss Granger's personal work._

Entirely her personal work, indeed! Severus's scowl deepened as he read on. At the bottom of the article, Granger herself was quoted.

_I myself have had first-hand insight as to the limitations of Dittany, and I felt the world needed a better alternative. I'd like to thank the Weasley family for supporting me throughout my research, and Professor Severus Snape who, as the Potions' Professor at Hogwarts, taught me so much. _

Severus felt his fingers turn numb, so tight was his grip upon the glass. His brow furrowed and he desperately struggled to maintain his composure. All attempts at clearing his mind eluded him as dark outbursts shot to the forefront. She had taken his personal research! Then dedicated it to him! And how long had she known of this improved formula? Since her sixth year? While they were on the run? Well before she saw fit to drag him, kicking and screaming, to the world of the living and mar him irreparably?! _First hand insight as to the limitations of Dittany?_ Oh first hand all right. The impudent wench!

Setting the glass of amber liquid to the side, Severus drummed his long slender things along the arm of the chair. He would weather this. He was Severus Tobias Snape.

_Stop this now you foolish old man. You know why you're angry. You'd had this idea for years and were too useless to do anything. _

_You just hate Granger for saving you._

Severus scowled at the fire's dying embers.

_Coward, you wanted to die. _

_That slip of a Gryffindor has accomplished more than you ever could. _

_You don't even care about the scars. _

Severus stance remained stiff as he held back the seething wave of rage. It would not do. He would show the arrogant know-it-all.

After all, she had no right.

Just as she had no right to save his life and no right to remind him of how he had wasted it.

Damn her.


	3. Chapter 3 - 36 Days

Disclaimer: I pledge myself in allegiance to my Mistress. JKR is a thousand times my superior and everything belongs to her. Except perhaps Lucy who would stringently deny she belongs to herself.

Note: Thanks so much for your reviews and comments!

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_A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself a liar. _

Mark Twain

Hermione tried to ignore the clock ticking on the wall beside her. She knew checking it again wouldn't make the time go faster. She desperately attempted to focus on the valerian roots she was slicing to the exact millimeter. She was Hermione Granger. She had to concentrate.

Her eyes betrayed her and slid to the clock. 45 minutes of this to go. On the other side of the wide airy lab, at a grey high table identical to her own, Lucy Stewart, Hermione's fellow intern was glaring murderously at her own roots. Lucy was a mix of contradictions; Her tanned skin was littered with freckles and her long black hair brought out her startlingly blue eyes. But it was the young girls self-assurance that brought harmony to such distinct features. She always had a handle over herself, and quite often, others in the room.

Looking up, she spotted Hermione's glance and dramatically rolled her eyes. Hermione couldn't be sure if she and Lucy had become fast friends due to complimentary temperaments, or if it was borne entirely out of their mutual contempt of Healer Sullivan.

He was an absolute idiot.

At first Hermione believed his mollycoddling was merely an introductory phase, while he tested their aptitude. After six months of the same repetitive lackey work, she had assumed he was finally ready to introduce the more intense training. Ten months later, Hermione had been proved wrong.

She wasn't fond of the feeling.

Even now she wasn't entirely sure that Healer Sullivan was just thick, or simply spiteful. The middle-aged wizard was tall, but fair from slender. The years had left his round boyish face intact, but left him with a pudgy frame and a noticeably receding hairline. His effort to comb the thinning blonde hair over was not unmarked by the rest of the Hospital's staff. It was well known that he had an inferiority complex a mile high and his treatment towards Hermione had plummeted severely after her breakthrough with the decantation of dittany.

Each day was the same mind-numbing drone, with each menial task differing only slightly. The only reason Hermione was able to suffer through it silently was her own research that sat waiting for her each night. She hadn't been entirely truthful with Ron on that score. The only way she was able to placate him about the long hours she spent holed up in Percy's old room with her books, was to tell him that she had no choice. That it was imperative to her internship.

It was nothing of the sort, of course.

What had initially started as an attempt to stave off her intellectual cravings had resulted in a breakthrough that could potentially benefit wizards everywhere. It had been her saving grace; it had provided hope. Hope that she had so desperately needed. And so she pushed herself further and further, desperately trying to find a solution for victims of the Obliviate Charm. Victims like her parents.

Molly had, surprisingly, taken it all rather well. Granted, Hermione had only mumbled something about keeping up with her internship, but Molly had swiftly backed her up, repeatedly scolding her sons for bothering her and gently reminding Ron that it wouldn't be like this forever.

Hermione felt another twinge of guilt. She was well aware that Molly believed Hermione would one day emerge from her pile of books with the life-changing realization that she wanted nothing more than to be Mrs. Ronald Weasley. Hermione, on the other hand, couldn't see it happening. The thrill of publishing her first academic article had been incomparable. Hermione couldn't imagine any greater calling. It certainly surpassed any fumbling tryst with Ron.

Hermione jumped, as her reverie was interrupted. Healer Sullivan had stormed into the room, and Hermione had never seen him so furious. He stalked straight past the two stunned interns and over the fireplace in the corner of the room. Six erratically flapping memos swept in through the third story window, obviously following the aggravated wizard. Flinging a handful of Floo Powder from the ledge, Sullivan bellowed into the green flames:

"Huxley! What's the meaning of this? 36 days? 36 days?"

Lucy shot a dumbfounded look at her across the room. What the hell was going on? The two girls strained to hear the reply of the older, portly man through the crackling hearth. Hermione thought she recognized the name Huxley, but she wasn't sure. She faintly remembered Percy bringing him up at some point.

Through the Floo, Hermione heard the faint sounds of "Out of my hands, dear fellow" and "Absolutly nothing I could do."

This hadn't soothed Sullivan at all.

"Nothing you can do? There's nothing WE can do in 36 bloody days." The end of his sentence was lost in a blustering attempt to expel his outrage.

Again, the elder gentleman's reply could only faintly be heard.

"I need more details TONIGHT! Do you have any idea how much work this will entail? I need more numbers in my department for this, Huxley!" Sullivan paused to draw breath, and seemed to think for a moment. "And more funds! I can't pull this off on a shoe-string budget!"

His tone of voice had seemed to level at this, and Hermione exchanged a cynical grin with Lucy. Whatever was happening, Sullivan believed he'd found a way to work the situation to his advantage. The wizard on the other end of the Floo seemed to come to the same conclusion.

Hermione thought she heard a chuckle, and an "Of course my friend, I'll see what I can work out for you."

With this the green flames flickered out and Sullivan was left staring blankly at the empty grate. Turning around, he seemed shocked to see them both still in the room. He gave them both a weak grin.

"Well girls, the fun certainly starts tomorrow, no more of this slacking around for you, I daresay. Your luck's run out! Still, that's more than enough for now. You can both go home early. How's that for a treat?"

Mistaking their looks of disbelief for satisfaction, he strolled out of the room, battered memos still fluttering after him.

"SLACKING AROUND?" Lucy exploded, silver knife held aloft. "I'll do him for this you know. 'Lucks run out?' He's an idiot!" She punctuated this last outburst by embedding the knife deep within the countertop.

Hermione was just as enraged.

"Does he actually think, can he be so daft as to believe, that we've ENJOYED nearly a year's worth of menial tasks?" She uttered, shaking her head at the closed door.

"Well. I'm storing this lot, then I'm off before he changes his mind" Lucy said irreverently, wiping her hands down her green robes.

"I wonder what that was all about, though? What's in 36 days?" Hermione pondered aloud while levitating the roots into the glass container.

"Oh no, here we go. Consummate Gryffindor Hermione Granger is on the case. I'm not going to be your side-kick on this one, okay." Lucy grinned at her.

Hermione merely huffed and rolled her eyes. Lucy had been at Hogwarts two years ahead of her, and the ex-Slytherin took great delight in reminding her of all her school hijinks. Reminding, of course, being a euphemism for mocking.

"You show an astounding lack of curiosity you know."

"Yep" Lucy drawled back. "Never been turned into a cat though."

Hermione only groaned. She had vowed never to go drinking with Lucy again. Her secrets were simply not safe after multiple gillywaters.


	4. Chapter 4 - Memories

Disclaimer: Does anyone actually read these? As usual, JKR owns it all and I am but a humble servant.

Notes: Thanks so much for all your reviews, follows and favourites! You have all genuinely made my day :3

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_A retentive memory may be a good thing, but the ability to forget is the true token of greatness. _  
**Elbert Hubbard**

* * *

Hermione shrugged off her lime green robes and shoved them in her locker after casting a quick cleansing charm. Throwing on a plain shirt and her worn red coat, she adjusted her scarf and braced herself for the cold London air. While she could Floo directly from the waiting room to the leaky cauldron, she always enjoyed the walk through Muggle London. Ron teased her mercilessly of course. Particularly the day she walked into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes with her head stuck in a Muggle newspaper. Even after all this time, Hermione still felt stuck between both worlds, a Muggle born in the world of magic and a witch in the world of normalcy.

Stepping out through the glass of the seemingly abandoned building, Hermione weaved her way through the oblivious crowd. It was astounding what Muggles could miss. It was a dark, overcast afternoon, with heavy grey clouds pressing down upon the unmoving traffic and threatening rain. Hermione pulled her scarf closer around her and set off at a brisk pace.

Her parents had always warned her about walking through London alone. To be fair, that was before they knew Hermione was a witch and more than capable of looking out for herself. Hermione gulped and shook her head. It didn't do any good to dwell on her parents. She wouldn't start that again.

_They're safe, Hermione._

_Safe, and better off without you. _

Reaching the drab exterior of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione pushed through the unobtrusive door and attempted slip through the pub unnoticed. Not quite successfully though. The patrons of the dingy pub all attempted to make eye contact, raising their glasses and half saluting the member of the golden trio. Hermione had a new found sympathy for everything Harry had ever dealt with. Waving half-heartedly to the crowd, she ducked quickly to the back courtyard and tapped the bricks to pass through to Diagon Alley.

The cobbled street had blossomed in the last year of peace. More shops than ever before lined the crooked alley, and none more resplendent than the towering purple figure of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. All manner of sparkling, fizzing contraptions shone from the windows of the grand building, with the exception of one window in the left corner. Draped in black, the display held pictures of all those deceased in the Battle of Hogwarts. Fred's picture stood solitary at the front, gazing peacefully at those leaving the shop, bags of magic tricks piled high. As always, Hermione's heart fell at the sight of it.

_Poor Fred._

Pushing her way through the crowd surrounding the entrance, Hermione scanned the busy store for any sign of Ron. Spotting a head of red hair slip out into the back room, Hermione followed only to run into George, knocking a pile of boxes from his hands.

"George! I'm sorry! I thought you were Ron!"

George scrambled to pick up the small orange boxes, before throwing her a somewhat empty smile.

"I don't think I've ever been so insulted," he quipped, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. George had never been the same since losing Fred, and even on his best days he seemed a shadow of his former self.

"What's in the boxes?" Hermione asked, once again intrigued. George rarely came into the store, finding it too painful, and he hadn't produced any new stock since, well… Since.

"Put the kettle on, and I'll give you a look." He shot over his shoulder, moving to stack the boxes on a low table to the side. The backroom had been cleared out of all the ministries protective ensembles, and it was little more than a private sitting room now. She suspected this change had more to do with Ron's not so stringent work ethic than any managerial decision. Moving to the small sink, she filled the kettle and charmed the small tea service to prepare itself before sinking into a pouf near the bench. The lilac cushion cheekily emitted a puff of orange dust and a squeak similar to that of a Muggle whoopee cushion. George gave her a meek apologetic look

"I only got them properly working last night. I'd been working on it on and off for about four months. It was dad who got me thinking of it. He's got this Muggle machine at home; Dung brought it for him if you can believe it. Said he ran across it in a back alley deal. Nicked it from some poor Muggle more likely."

Hermione scowled at this, but George continued.

"Well you'd know more about it than me. It's sort of like a camera that takes moving pictures, just like wizard ones, but without any magic. It moves just the same, but there's sound too, and it goes on for longer."

"A Camcorder?" Hermione muttered, confused.

"Yeah, something like that. Dad said it spoke to the Vee-Sea-Argh machine and then whatever you took a picture of, played on the Telly. Dad's kept it all at our, I mean, at my flat. Save mum going through the roof."

"So you've made Magical Video Cameras then?" Hermione asked, still not seeing the market. She didn't know how to break it to him that this new product wasn't entirely dissimilar to normal magical photographs. "But, George, surely…"

"It's no different from your average Wizarding picture right?" George wryly acknowledged her look of concern. Hermione only nodded, flushing a little.

"That's what Mum said. Dad figured the same, but you know how he is with Muggle stuff. But it got me thinking. Ever read how the Magical film is processed?"

Hermione sat up a little more in her chair.

"Yes! In my first-"

George held out a hand to stop her.

"Foolish Question, I know."

Ron barrelled in the door at this point, more of the square boxes levitating behind him. "Told 'Mione 'bout the new products yet? They're bloody wicked."

"All in good time. So yeah, Magical Pictures use normal Muggle film, but they're developed in a special potion-"

"Excito Animatum!" Hermione exclaimed.

George raised his eyebrows at his brother as Ron fell onto a stool behind her.

"Was she like this all through school, mate?"

"Worse." Ron smirked.

Hermione gave him swift kick in the shins. George merely laughed into his tea.

"Right, and so I decided to see what happened when you put the film from the video thingy-"

"Camcorder." It was a force of habit and Hermione really couldn't help herself.

"Whatever- into the Excito solution."

"I think dad's still pissed with you on that one, mate," Ron interjected. George only grimaced in memory.

"I take that it didn't work then." Hermione had a sneaking suspicion George had simply immersed a tape into bubbling cauldron, and could only imagine the fallout.

"You should see the apartment." Ron snorted.

"Both tin can and tiara are treasure to a Kneazle," George continued, in the air of a long-suffering poet. "Okay, so, it was a complete bloody disaster. I asked Harry what he thought of the whole idea, since he was raised by those awful Muggles. He reckoned he never got close enough to their telly to breathe on it, never mind work it, but he did come up with-"

"Hang on." Hermione interrupted stoutly. "Why didn't you ask me?"

Once again George and Ron exchanged glances.

"I mean," She continued, getting slightly defensive, "Sure, I've not been the biggest fan of some of this store's output, but I do understand Muggle technology! And potions for that matter!"

"'Mione, when did he have chance to ask you?" Ron shot back, coming to his brother's defense. "You've spent the last ten months at work, or shut up in Percy's old bedroom."

"It really is like having Percy back you know." George remarked.

Hermione felt her face burn pink with shame. Had she really been that bad?

"I've been down for meals and things." She said sullenly.

George only laughed at that.

"Oh yes. 'Mum, could you pass me those potatoes? Cheers. So Hermione, we blew up four of dad's vid-ee-oh tapes last night, any ideas?"

Hermione only blushed harder.

Ron, somewhat out of character, seemed to pick up on her discomfort, and patted her gingerly on the shoulder. "It's alright, 'Mione. We know it's just for work. It's not forever or anything."

_Hermione Granger you are a terrible human being. _

She wished the floor could have swallowed her up then and there.

"But listen, you haven't heard the brilliant part yet. So I explained it all to Harry, how I wanted to make some sort of video things for Wizards."

Hermione really wasn't in the mood anymore, but she smiled politely, waiting for him to continue.

"So Harry was all for helping you then?" she asked, attempting to spur him along.

"Nope," George said simply. Hermione's eyes widened.

"Why ever not?"

"Didn't see the point did he?" Ron mumbled with his mouth full of biscuit.

"He reckoned people could always chuck it in a Pensieve and show their mates later," George chortled.

Hermione drew a blank. She thought that was a rather valid point actually. Behind her Ron had evidently swallowed down the biscuit and was laughing along.

George seemed a bit put out by her reaction. "Well come on, Hermione, who do you know that's got a spare Pensieve lying about?"

"They're about 700 galleons. Give or take on quality and the maker." Ron told her in an infuriatingly patient voice.

"That price is mainly due to time it takes to make them, of course. It's extremely complex magic, to be able to sustain multiple memories while simultaneously allowing for their addition and removal. Plus, there's no real market for anything like that."

Hermione was utterly fed up at this point. She hated pleading ignorance to aspects of the Wizarding world.

"The boxes," She said pointedly, attempting to bring George back on topic.

George leant across the table and pulled one of the boxes towards him. Opening the orange packaging, he withdrew a glass orb, not dissimilar from a typical crystal ball.

Inside the ball, which made no sense for it seemed completely solid, was a swirling silver smoke. At least, Hermione thought it most resembled smoke. It could have been liquid too, at second glance. George didn't take his eyes from her face as he tapped the orb twice with his wand. Instantly the smoke or liquid or whatever it was shifted to form a flat screen. The squashed toad face of Dolores Umbridge appeared in the globe, robes disheveled and hair askew. Behind her, a small bang emitted from the glass, then a roar, as one of the twin's fiery pinwheels chased her down what looked to be the 2nd floor charms corridor.

Instead of the scene repeating, as it would in a normal Wizarding photograph, the smog shifted again, and new scene formed. The sights and sounds of a bustling Hogwarts corridor came into view. Just as a group of surly Slytherin emerged from a classroom, there was a tremendous welching sound from within the globe, and the floor of the corridor gave way to a marshy, sulfurous swamp. Hermione imagined for a moment she could faintly smell it. The globe played on for another minute showcasing the student's hilarious attempts to navigate the mess. With one last Slytherin falling face first into the bog, the globe's contents shifted and returned to normal.

Hermione had to admit; it was absolutely breathtaking magic.

"How? However did you manage to- just… How?!" She exclaimed. George's grin was enormous as he took in her reaction. Ron beside her was still cackling away at Umbridge's ministrations.

"Well the basic concept of the Excito Animatum is to bring an image to life, so why should it be any different with a memory?"

"You mean, you've developed memories!?" Hermione spluttered.

"Took ages to find something that would sustain the images. The orbs are filled with a modified Excito solution, you transfer a memory straight from your head, or a Pensieve, into the middle and it takes about 4 to 5 hours to configure."

"But that's absurd! There's no known record of memories ever been used in conjuncture with potions!"

Ron and George exchanged a blank look at her outburst.

"Well, I guess there is now 'Mione." Ron said calmly. Hermione simply gaped at the two of them, who plainly failed to understand how much of a remarkable achievement this was.

George, it seemed, was actually disappointed.

"Some memories come out -well- wrong. You need to have been really concentrating at the time. If you're under any sort of charm, or drug or alcohol, it comes out completely off. It has to be relatively recent too." He shared a grim look with Ron before pulling out another globe, this time from his pocket.

Tapping it once, the foggy shifted slowly to form a blurry, fluctuating screen. Hermione thought she could make out a child clutching a teddy bear, before it shifted into an enormous spider. The smoke didn't shift, but the screen swung to show another redheaded youth on the floor laughing.

_Fred._

Hermione wondered how many failed globes George still had at home. She wondered how much of this really was about showcasing pranks.

As the smog shifted back to normal, George was the first break the sombre silence. "We think powerful emotion distorts the process as well."


	5. Chapter 5 - Conscience under wraps

Disclaimer: I didn't write Harry Potter; a girl can always dream though ;)

Note: Only a short chapter today, I couldn't fit any more in without interrupting the flow. Plus a few of you really wanted to hear from Severus.

* * *

_The first and greatest punishment of the sinner is the conscience of sin_.

**Lucius Annaeus Seneca**

* * *

Hermione made a point of hanging around downstairs after dinner. It took discernible effort to do so. Her mind had been whirling non-stop since they'd left Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. George had no idea what sort of breakthrough he'd come across. Hermione was itching to add this to her notes, to factor it into her equations. This could change everything. This could be the answer.

Glancing across from the corner of the living room, she watched the Wizard in question engage Ron in Exploding Snap. Sensing her gaze, Ron turned around and beckoned her over.

"Settle an argument for us. We were just talking about the boxes." George said quietly as she sat on the floor, his voice almost drowned out by the blast of a pair of twos.

Ron tucked his arm around her waist, leaning forward slightly so their conversation was shielded from Molly, sitting just a few feet away.

"Okay. George is all for putting instructions on the box, and letting people sort themselves out."

Hermione nodded, not entirely following. The process didn't seem too difficult after all.

"Well that's how dad's tapes work." He paused, clearing another bank of cards with a large bang. "_Worked_, anyway." Ron nodded, as if to acknowledge this.

"But what if, we sold the globes, got people to put in their memories, and then we developed them?" Ron punctuated his idea by blowing up a set of fives.

"It sounds cheap, mate. Making people fork out twice." George obviously seemed unsure of his younger brother's reasoning. When Hermione thought about it, nothing in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was dramatically overpriced; nothing to what Zonko's usually charged anyway. It was almost utilitarian, in a promoting mischief among all classes sort of way.

Hermione stared at Ron, frankly amazed.

"What?" He squawked, alarmed.

"Ron, you're right! George, this is revolutionary. This is completely different from photographs. I mean, if someone's taking a photo of you, at least you're aware! You have some form of consent. This?! With this, anything and everything you do at any moment can be used against you! Imagine the blackmail! No, not even blackmail! Imagine the damage ex-lovers could do with this sort of technology! This could shred privacy within the magical world to pieces!"

Hermione gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth.

"Imagine this in the hands of Rita Skeeter!"

Both Ron and George paled considerably at this.

"No. You need to completely control the rights to production and development. Get Percy to bring home the relevant forms. You'll need to copyright it, and draw up regulations!"

George's face fell further. Hermione wasn't sure he was ready for the day Percy got to enforce regulations at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

Ron didn't seem troubled by her predictions at all. If anything, he seemed mollified she'd agreed with him. She supposed it was a bit of a novelty in their relationship.

"Well, yeah! That's what I thought, you see. I just don't explain it as well as you, 'Mione." Ron gave her a soppy smile before capturing her lips with his own. Hermione endured the kiss, wondering what Ron would do if he knew she'd read the entire contents of _Ten Ways to Charm a Witch_.

Still feeling guilty about their conversation earlier that afternoon, Hermione followed Ron up to his bedroom. He'd be asleep within the hour anyway, and then she could continue her research with a clean conscience.

* * *

It was the longest Snape had ever spent in his new basement laboratory. It was the most frustrated he had been in it as well. Nearly 24 straight hours and he had nothing to show for it but a shattered decanter and a horrendously expensive waste of Dittany.

He simply refused to examine the witch's formula. No. If know-it-all Granger could do it, without a Master's training in the subject, Severus Tobias Snape would conquer the process eventually. There had to be some key element that was used during the decantation method. It was the only explanation. The reduction of sediment and aeration alone wouldn't alter the basic magical principles of the extract.

He'd tried both magical and Muggle decantation, as well as a mixture of the two. He'd attempted straining it manually, and he had ultimately come to his wits' end.

Marching up the narrow stone stairs, black wool robes flaring dramatically behind him, Severus Snape decided he had to know. Picking up the watermarked (or whiskey marked) magazine from where he'd last left it, he read through the process meticulously.

_Ahh._

_Murtlap Essense._

It was rather brilliant. Not that he would ever knowingly admit it. Murtlap Essense was possibly the least reactive ingredient in existence. Most trained Potioneers wouldn't give it a second thought. But when magically configured into a sort of sieve, it would remove sediment while tiny particles were absorbed into the now improved Dittany, reducing the pain and scarring involved.

_Damn her._

_You probably wouldn't have come up with it, old man._

Severus stared silently down at the now wrinkled image of Hermione Jean Granger. It was still his initial idea. She would have been nowhere without him.

_Your research would be nowhere without her, you fool._

* * *

Note:

Thank you all so much for your reviews! I'd like to clear up some issues dujbrought up in their review, that dittany is used in canon for the treatment of scars. That's correct, but my interpretation goes more along the lines that 'Its use makes fresh skin grow over a wound, and after application, the wound seems several days old.'(that's taken from the Harry Potter wiki page) So I figure that if a wound is properly treated, as Snape treat's Malfoy's wounds in HBP, then the application of Dittany will completely remove scars. However on the flip side when Hermione uses Dittany on Ron's splinched arm, with no other healing spells, the wound isn't perfectly healed. I'm not sure if I'm 100% right on this, but I thought i'd share my logic in case anyone else was questioning the same thing.

Moi, your review was utterly fantastic, my fangirl senses are tingling. I hadn't thought about it in length, but after that review I think a few grudge bearing goblins might find there way into the story ;)

Thank you all so much for your reviews, it's so odd to think of people reading this and taking the time to make my day!


	6. Chapter 6 - Nothing's as it seems

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. JKR owns it all and I'm not profiting- financially at least.

Notes: Please review and share your thoughts so far :)

_A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing._

**George Bernard Shaw **

* * *

George had been more than happy to let her look over his notes before he went to bed. If Hermione could realistically call them notes: the few parts that were actually legible seemed to be written completely without context. It was more like an amalgamation of personal reminders than anything else. She was resolved to buy him some sort of note-taking quill and journal for Christmas. How WWW had come this far was beyond her.

Still, the few parts she could make out on the brewing process were brilliant enough to make up for it. He really was a genius. In messy scrawl George related that he'd been unable to find anything on using memories in potion. Next to which the term _bugger_ had been hastily crossed out. The next 6 pages marked his unsuccessful attempts at using memories in the actual brewing of Excito Animatum. It seemed the memories refused to combine with any other material: If you infused them with plain water, they formed a separate globe before eventually fizzling out of existence. Somehow none of this had discouraged George.

It was only on the last page of notes that George seemed to make any progress. Giving the previous efforts up as a loss, he had modified the contents of Excito Animatum, and simply added the memories to the revised potion at the end stage.

After copying his instructions for the revised potion down onto a separate sheet of paper, Hermione rose and gathered the rest of her notes. Then, reaching up to the books stacked on top of Percy's old wardrobe she pulled down what appeared to be a shiny-new copy of _Hogwarts a History_.

Only, of course, it wasn't.

Furtively glancing at the door, Hermione removed the glamour and a battered second hand volume of _Advanced Potion Making_ was revealed.

_Hermione Granger, you are a terrible human being._

As usual, Hermione couldn't assuage the guilt that flooded over her. Lying about her research, ignoring Ron, and insulting the Weasleys' hospitality all weighed upon her conscience daily. But this, this was tenfold. Opening the tatty hard cover, Hermione lightly traced the now faded ink.

_This book is the property of the Half Blood Prince. _

She truly hadn't been able to help herself. After finding out the identity of the 'Half-Blood Prince', Hermione had shuddered at the loss of such knowledge. The irony of mistrusting the book all year was not lost on her. Especially since she alone had constantly defended the infuriating Professor. She had reclaimed the tattered textbook on her last day at Hogwarts at the same time she appropriated the Horcrux books from Dumbledore's office. She wasn't sure the information would be useful, but it never hurt to be prepared.

She really should have sent it back to Snape after the battle. There was no excuse for keeping it any more. But when the thought had struck her, Hermione had been vehemently reluctant to let it go. After all, as far as anyone knew the book had perished in flames. Plus, Snape obviously hadn't been using it if Harry had found it stashed in the bottom of a cupboard.

Deep down Hermione knew that for all her rationalizations, it was wrong to keep the book. So she had resolved to return the book after she passed her potion Newts. She reasoned she was sitting them without an instructor and a little extra tuition and study never went amiss.

She spent three-days pouring over the tiny cramped handwriting. It was then she knew there was no way she could ever give it back. The tiny offhand comments and notes scattered through the book provided more academic stimulation than the entire Weasley clan put together. It was one such alteration, the single word 'Distilment' (circled and underlined twice) that led Hermione to her research in Dittany. She couldn't bear the idea that she'd scarred Snape irreparably when another option had existed. A method he had conceived in the first place. How he must have loathed her. She had sent him letter after letter, confessing her possession of the book, and announcing her perfection of the distilment process. She was prepared to send him all her research in atonement; the royalties he would earn might finally resolve her of her guilt.

Six letters later, one personally handed to Professor McGonagal, and Hermione had had enough.

Severus Snape was not the only person in the world, and Hermione knew that others all over the Wizarding world could be spared future disfigurement. Hermione hadn't mentioned the breakthrough to anyone. How could she explain to Ron that she had been lying all that time? Her first published work, and she was positive only half a dozen people in Great Britain would know of it.

It was sitting in the Burrow's kitchen, the morning she received word from the Italian Potions Publisher, that Hermione promised to set her parent's memories straight. The war they might not understand. Her magic, her newts, her status as a hero of the Wizarding world might all seem foreign to them. But her very first publication was something she knew they would understand. She had missed them then more than ever before.

Looking down at the tattered textbook, Hermione flatly ignored the pulsing guilt and remorse. She was determined. Taking up her quill, she set about re-working her calculations. Using memories had to be the answer.

* * *

The moonlight swam across the bare stone floors, seeping in through the curtains and bathing the corners of the room in darkness. Severus was laid in bed, fruitlessly attempting to clear his mind and find some respite in sleep.

He didn't know what to do.

It felt like he'd been woken up from the stupor his life had become. He'd spent so long simply surviving from hour to hour, attempting to rob each day of feeling, and Granger had ruined it all. The numbness had been shattered and surges of rage and guilt and worst of all doubt had taken its place.

He didn't think he could sustain the carefully constructed veil of apathy anymore. He wasn't sure he wanted to. For the first time in years, Severus Snape cared about something; something purely concerning himself too. Not a long dead woman and her meddling brat, not the whims of a delusional madman or the pleas of an old fool.

He was angry. No, he was furious. He had cleared his mind again and again, occluding away the irrational emotional response and waiting for it to fade. But it persisted. It seemed to have taken the form of buck-toothed bushy haired child waving her hand in the air. He couldn't ignore it and it wasn't going away. Tranquil as he attempted to appear, the rage still seethed under the surface. She had taken the only thing he was good for. As much as he hated himself, as much as he loathed and belittled every other fragment of his being, he was proud of his intellect. He was proud of his research, proud of the potions he had patented and the cures he had made possible. It was his only redeeming factor and Hermione Granger had pissed all over it.

How could he go back to comfortably wasting his life now?

Snape stared sightlessly up at the dark ceiling. No. He was going to make her admit to the theft, he was going to make her surrender his notes, and he was going to make her admit, to the entire Wizarding world, that the research was his.

_And what will that achieve? You're going to tear apart this brilliant witch's life and career all because she made you feel something? _

Severus ignored his thoughts. This was all her fault anyway.


	7. Chapter 7 - Success

Disclaimer: It may shock you to know that I am not in fact JK Rowling. I hope you survive the surprise tolerably and enjoy my story anyway.

Note: I'm loving your reviews! I think Steven Moffat has had some influence on me: I'm enjoying your feels far too much. Please review and let me know what you think so far :)

* * *

_All you need is ignorance and confidence and the success is sure. _

**Mark Twain**

* * *

It was the loud voices in the Burrow's Kitchen that woke Hermione that morning. She'd fallen asleep at her desk again. Cracking her neck, the still sleep-ridden witch reached for her wand. 6:45. Well, she supposed four hours sleep was quite enough to be getting along with. Shuffling her notes Hermione came to a stiff halt.

She had done it.

Her face split into a huge grin and she leapt off the chair. She'd finally done it. The formula in front of her matched her initial calculations. By substituting Sytingia root in the base of a standard Reparations Draught she was sure the memories, added at the last critical stage would integrate correctly, creating a template for the healing potion to work off.

The Reparations draught was actually a slow-acting healing potion, which restored the body to its previous highest functioning state. It took up to four weeks to assimilate to the patient's individual genetic makeup, and then restored all functions simultaneously. Admittedly the potion had never before been used to address brain functionality and memory loss, but Hermione's research into both Muggle and Magical theories of Memory convinced her that the potion could be used to repair the electronic neuron pathways in the brain, particularly those in the Hippocampi that showed signs of former activity.

The root would serve to focus the otherwise wide-acting potion to the regions of the brain that affected memory. The root and its adaptions were already being trialed in the St Janus Thickery ward of St Mungo's with often-conflicting results. Memory was such an undiscovered field and most victims of the Obliviate charm showed symptoms similar to what Muggles labeled as 'retrograde amnesia'. It was possible to retrieve lost memories, but it was exceedingly difficult.

After quietly engaging in a sort of victory dance, she carefully folded the formula and placed it inside the 'prince's' textbook, directly over the original directions. She felt a smug sense of satisfaction; for once, no waves of guilt radiated from the ratty book. Snape hadn't added a single annotation to the book's instructions. Shoving the book back on top of the wardrobe she threw on jeans and an old polo before going down stairs. The hazy summer morning had a new glow to it.

Following the smells of fresh bread and bacon, she turned into the kitchen and was faced with an uncharacteristically shabby Percy perched at the table. Molly was busy charming the general chaos of pans into some sort of productive order.

"Hullo Hermione, sorry for waking you," Percy said glumly, noticing her. She supposed he knew more than anyone how sound could carry in this house.

"Oh dear, there you are, sit down, breakfast will be ready shortly. Tea is on the table, but if you want coffee you'll have to brew your own I'm afraid."

"Thanks, Molly," Hermione smiled, reaching for the kettle and the instant roast Molly kept in the cupboard.

"What brings you here this early, Percy?" She asked, somewhat nonplussed at his ragged appearance at this time of day. He was wearing what seemed to be the previous day's clothing, pinstriped robes crinkled and tie loose around his neck.

"Penelope's thrown me out." He replied baldly. It was always a shock to hear him speak in anything but a pompous drone.

"What! Why?" Hermione had always attributed them with the perfect relationship. They'd been together all through Hogwarts, and had lived together for four years afterwards.

"Accused me of seeing another woman." Once again his tone held no true emotion, and she heard Mrs Weasley _tsk_ slightly.

Hermione was unsure what to say, and busied herself by adding milk and sugar to her coffee.

"She was wrong, of course." He added as a sort of afterthought.

"Well, surely you can prove that you weren't cheating, then! How can she not believe you?"

Percy looked up at his breakfast, plainly confused at her train of thought.

"Oh, I was cheating. It just wasn't another woman."

Hermione sat down (before she fell down) and Mrs Weasley set down a plate in front of her before briskly interrupting.

"Well, then she was more than right to put an end to it, dear. You really should have done so earlier."

Hermione was absolutely nonplussed. Had she heard Molly correctly? Surely not. She couldn't imagine Molly ever being so nonchalant. Certainly not about anything that threatened her views on marriage and grandchildren.

"Mum, we've been through this. I know I should have. I know it was wrong, it's just that the Ministry makes it all but impossible to see Oliver publicly and still maintain my position, and Penny seemed fine with the way things were. I really thought she knew. We were never really, well, together-together."

"Percival Ignatius Weasley, don't you dare tell me you were in the right." Molly was building up to full steam now, her face red and hands on hips. Now here was the Molly Hermione was used to seeing. "I know you love him, but Penny deserves that same amount of love, and expecting her to stay in a marriage devoid of intimacy so that you stay in the Ministries good books is utterly wrong! It's beyond selfish! It's not fair on either of you and I raised you better than that, young man."

Percy merely grimaced at this and made no attempt to defend himself. It really did look like he felt horrid.

"What's more is Oliver deserves better! That's not how you treat the people you love! Honestly, if he loves you, and your family loves and supports you, which we always will, darling, then the Ministry can go hang themselves."

Molly's fury was no longer solely aimed at her son, it seemed.

Hermione swallowed down some coffee before timidly entering the conversation. "So have I met this Oliver? Did he go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes." Percy's expression softened and a serene smile crept onto his face. "You certainly do. Oliver Wood."

Hermione smiled at him and remembered the Quidditch mad boy she knew from Hogwarts. She faintly recalled seeing him at the final battle.

"The final battle?" She inquired, somewhat hesitantly. She and Percy had always got on, but usually conversation was restricted to their shared swottiness. They had never gotten this personal before.

Percy merely smiled and nodded, a faraway look on his face.

Molly, casting a status charm on the still hovering pans, finally sat and procured a cup of tea for herself.

"You'll invite him around for dinner, at least. Tonight." She said in a no-nonsense tone. "Harry and Ginny are coming, so we'll have a family dinner. Hermione dear, try to be home on time from work."

Hermione glowed inwardly at being automatically included in a family dinner, before remembering it was more to do with Ron than anything. Nodding, she remembered Sullivan's ominous prediction for the day's work, as well as the dramatic Floo call.

"Percy, you don't know a Huxley at the ministry, do you? One connected with St Mungo's, at least."

Percy swallowed down his toast and looked puzzled.

"The only Huxley I know is from the Magical Law Office. He headed the Commission of Magical Unions last I heard. But it can't be him, I can't see what he'd have to do with Mungo's lot." Percy paused here, still thinking. "You know Gilbert Wimple, from Experimental Charms? He got a new intern the other day; perhaps he's named Huxley as well."

Hermione mulled this over. She supposed a brand new charm could need an antidote or reversal conducted immediately. Either way she'd find out eventually. Rising, she rinsed her plate in the sink as Molly continued to fuss over Percy.

"- You really look dreadful dear, I'm sure you could stay here for a few days while you sort yourself out."

Hermione paled thinking of all the research she still had to look into, and how impossible it would be to do so while sharing a room with Ron. Not to mention his snoring. Luckily, Percy seemed to find the idea equally distressing.

"No mum, honestly. Oliver said I could stop over. I think he wants to look at a new apartment with me. He's sick of sharing with his Quidditch mates." Once again Percy's face had a peculiar blissful expression on it.

Molly only pursed her lips.

"Well you can't be seen at work like that." Flourishing her wand, Percy's robes straightened themselves and his tie shot up into a tight knot once more, nearly strangling him in the process.

Glancing at the Weasleys' second clock (the first was absolutely useless for telling the time of course) Hermione reluctantly straightened her shirt and summoned her satchel.

"I better be off too, Molly."

Molly's own eyes darted to the clock before she loudly protested.

"But dear, Ron will be up in a moment, can't you stay a little longer? Have another coffee?"

"I'm sorry, Molly, but Healer Sullivan mentioned today would be more busy than usual and they really do need me." This at least was a half-truth. Ron was barely functioning In the morning and he would just as likely notice her absence as not.

"Well, make sure you're here for supper, at least! It really won't do to have you working late tonight." Molly's tone was not to be argued with.

"I promise"

* * *

Note: I couldn't resist slipping in a little of my second favourite ship. It won't feature dramatically, I just think it's nice to reflect on some of the other couples a marriage law might affect. Hope you enjoyed!


	8. Chapter 8 - Baffled

Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to our leader and queen, JKR.

Notes: Thanks so much to everyone for their reviews!

* * *

_The government solution to a problem is usually as bad as the problem. _

**Milton Freidman**

* * *

To say Hermione was furious was an understatement. She had no qualms with working hard, and was more than willing to stay back now that Sullivan had finally given them proper work to be getting along with. But for him to not reveal the purpose of the research was plainly insulting. Not to mention counter-productive and completely illogical.

Arriving on the Third Floor that morning Hermione had been astounded at the flurry of activity. Amidst the hub of lime green robes were a number of those she assumed were Ministry personnel, as well as a younger group of possible research assistants. Obviously Sullivan had received the extra manpower he'd asked for.

The Healer in question was striding around, clutching a crumpled wad of notes and issuing orders to the congregating mass. Above the confined crowd, a pod of whirling paper memos had commandeered the corridors high-ceilinged airspace.

Lucy, situated to the side of the group, had beckoned her over.

"What do you make of this lot then?" She asked, attempting to elude Sullivan's notice. Hermione glanced dubiously at the ruckus, not entirely sure what to make of it.

"Have they told us what's happening? Some sort of crisis or outbreak?" Hermione asked, curiosity mounting.

"Not a word. Sullivan's making a right mess of it, and the Ministry officials are tight-lipped as anything." Lucy smirked. At least someone was gaining enjoyment out of this.

Hermione eyed the Ministry officials. Lucy was right. They were grim-faced and seemed to serve little purpose in the proceedings. _So they're just here to observe. Hm._

This was definitely no standard outbreak then.

Charging through the ruckus, Hermione made her way to the front where Sullivan was looking more and more harassed.

"Healer Sullivan, what's happening? What's all of this about?" she asked, firmly but politely.

Sullivan's usually arrogant demeanour was shattered by her arrival. He stammered something unintelligible whilst glancing not so furtively at the Ministry Wizards, all of who were now staring at Hermione.

Hermione only folded her arms and waited.

Two Ministry officials pulled the still stuttering Healer aside, and the three Wizards argued quietly. She didn't recognize the tall dark haired wizard who towered over Sullivan, nor the shorter, stouter one who had been far too busy nodding to add anything to the hushed conversation.

_Perhaps they'll let me know what's going on, seeing as I'm part of the Golden Trio and all that,_ she mused.

* * *

They hadn't.

Hermione had spent the next eight hours correlating the results of 17 different interns. When she had asked what patterns to look out for, the tight-lipped ministry official had all but glared at her. Sullivan, attempting a breezy tone, had answered "Anything that catches your eye."

_Idiots._

Hermione had absolutely no idea what she was looking for, and only had the typical pressing urge to find something, to excel at her given task. Her mind was whirling through the ingredients and methods being tested.

Six of the interns had been noting the effects of Agrippa, Faerie wings and Nightshade (Solanaceae), when prepared in different methods, while another eight had been integrating the bases of a Colour Changing Ink draught with a blood analysis potion. The Combination of potions made no sense to Hermione, while Agrippa Faerie wings and Nightshade were all key ingredients in completely different potions. Admittedly she recognised that modified Girding Potions were used illegally during the 1700's as a magical contraceptive, only because they were mentioned in Hogwarts a History as being banned from the Curriculum. Similarly, she remembered noting an immense collection of Nightshade that had been stashed in the Room of Hidden things. Again their use as a primitive post-coital contraceptive was outlawed in both St Mungo's and the Hogwarts infirmary. It clearly hadn't stopped several generations of desperate teenagers though. But the uses of Agrippa were utterly unknown to her. Hermione's brow was crinkled as she tried to remember anything about the plant, but as far as she knew it had never been so much as mentioned in her Hogwarts educations. Well apart from Cornellius Agrippa, who's published work on the purity and superior moral character of woman had sat just feet away from her favourite spot in the library. Having lived in a common room with Lavender Brown, Hermione had only scoffed at the title and never got around to reading it. A decision she was regretting now.

On the other side of the lab, Lucy was playing the role of assistant-cum-potion's instructor while the remaining three interns huddled over what Hermione assumed was a basic Fertility Solution.

Glancing at the clock that marked 6.30, Hermione realized the busy pace of the lab around her showed no signs of stopping. The interns were still crowded over their respective stations, and two Ministry officials still stood station by the door.

Returning her focus to the notes spread all over her desk, Hermione did her best to spot a pattern in the day's results. If she assumed from the notes on the Fertility Solution and the observations made on the Agrippa, Faerie wings and Nightshade, that the purpose of today's research was to pinpoint the similarities and differences of core ingredients, then she could highlight a few core trends. This did mean however, that the works pertaining to the Blood Analysis Potion and Colour Changing Ink were a completely independent experiment.

_Which makes no sense._

Hermione nearly growled at the parchment in front of her. What on earth could this be used for? In a hospital nonetheless! The patient charts in St Mungo's were all written in standard grade 4 ink and any significant blood work changes were magically communicated with their Healer and nursing staff. Ink that changed colour according to a particular blood work change was a step backwards in efficiency, and all in all Hermione reasoned it was a waste of time and resources.

That said, attempting to improve a fertility potion by researching contraceptives made even less sense. Not all core ingredients had polar opposites, and even if they did, the reversal of a contraceptive wouldn't necessarily increase the subject's fertility. It's far more likely it would simply build up their resistance to the use of contraceptives, which had absolutely no medical value whatsoever.

Biting the end of her quill, Hermione wondered if there was any point in including this in her summary. The ministry obviously didn't want the purpose of this research known. But to purposefully omit her observations made her feel as though her contributions were sub-par. No. It wouldn't do. Mustering her Gryffindor bravery, she pushed through her unshakable cynicism and jotted down her deductions. Perhaps if she had hope in the Ministry, or at least St Mungo's, she would be rewarded.

Sighing once more, she tried to avoid looking towards the clock as she rose and gathered her notes. Perhaps if she were very, very lucky and left now, Molly wouldn't kill her on sight.

* * *

Hermione arrived in the gleaming kitchen, apologies already on her tongue. Raising her hands and about to launch into how sorry she was, Hermione was shocked to find the kitchen completely empty. The table was spotlessly set and the pots and pans still hovered on the stove under a status charm.

_It looks like they've been interrupted._

* * *

Note: Would we call that a cliff-hanger? Maybe a slight hill hanger. Barely a steep incline really. Hahahaha, don't hate me and please review!


	9. Chapter 9 - Terms and conditions

Disclaimer: Trust me when I say I am not secretly JKR. Everything belongs to her.

Notes: Thanks to all of you for reviewing and following! In case anyone was wondering viola1701e has won today's coveted pun award. What do you mean you didn't realise there was a pun award? There's always a pun award!

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_Marriage is a great institution, but I'm not ready for an institution.  
_

**Mae West**

* * *

Hermione shuddered to think what could ever distract a Weasley from its supper. Drawing her wand, she cautiously made her way through the kitchen, ears strained for any sign of trouble. She could faintly hear voices coming from the next room, and she cast a silencing spell on her feet before moving across the dark hall. There were still Death Eater insurgents eluding the Ministry's capture, and naturally the Burrow would be a target.

With her wand drawn, she edged towards the living room door and listened quietly.

"- I don't see how there's any way they can get away with it!" came what she instantly recognized as Harry's voice. The smooth yet grave tones of Kingsley interrupted him.

"Whether they can or not, the fact remains that they are. It will be made public at the end of the week. We've got to get word to as many Muggle-borns as we know, try to give them at least a bit of warning. The more time they have, the more options. There's no way we can counter their plans at this stage without simply forcing their hand. We need more time."

Hermione's brow furrowed, Kingsley sounded weary, but for all his dire warnings, there seemed to be no imminent danger. About to open the door and announce her presence, Hermione's hand was stayed as she heard her name.

"Luckily Hermione's got things sorted, but I shudder to think of the poor dears without anyone to go to!" Molly's voice was greeted by silence.

Hermione opened the door and entered the room, feeling the silence thicken further.

Eyes sweeping the room, she numbly took in Kingsley's weary look and Harry's blatant outrage. Mrs Weasley stood arms folded behind Mr Weasley's chair. The rest of the red haired clan was perched on the lounge, with Oliver wood jammed between a worried looking Fred and Percy. Ron looked torn between concern and guilt.

"Right. Why am I lucky then?" Hermione quietly demanded, her low tone penetrating the silence.

Looks were passed throughout the room as silence once again prevailed. _It must be bad if no one wants to tell me_.

It was finally Kingsley who drew a deep breath before asking her to sit down. When she remained exactly where she was, he went on, seemingly unsurprised.

"The Ministry are in the process of introducing a new law, a marriage law. John Dalwish, or rather, the administration he fronts, are worried about the magical population. With all the lives lost during the war, the magical community is dwindling. They reason, or at least they profess to reason, that the only way to remedy this situation is to stimulate a baby-boom, to use the Muggle term." He drew another sigh, and plainly struggled for a way to continue.

"At the end of the week, all Muggle-borns and Wizard-borns, the magical children of Muggle-borns, will be required to marry," he stated blandly, obviously deciding there was no delicate way to put it.

"_That's utterly barbaric!"_ Hermione exploded, her face burning red. "That's preposterous! What was the point of fighting Voldemort at all if the ministry intends to maintain its outdated views on blood status?"

Those of the Weasleys who had gone to school with Hermione drew back in their seats, obviously recognizing the warning signs. Ron and Harry were no different.

Mr Weasley continued for Kingsley, no doubt used to explosive women.

"They won't argue it like that. They'll chalk it up as a sacrifice that must be made for the Wizarding world. The gene pool desperately needs new blood in it and from what Kingsley has been able to make out, they'll be providing generous benefits to those affected, to save face with the public."

"They're forcing innocent people to abandon their rights, their freedoms, and become breeding mares? And they expect to 'save face'? No! This is preposterous! We have to gain public favour first, alert the press."

"Hermione, the Ministry's leaning on the Prophet as it is. As soon as they got wind that the news had leaked and opposition was forming, they'd roll out the campaign earlier."

"The Quibbler then!" Hermione shot back, her ire refusing to admit defeat.

"That wouldn't change anything Hermione. Public outrage alone won't be enough to stop this," Kinsley's calm tone refuted.

"There has to be a loop-hole! Surely there's some precedent, some clause to protect Wizarding rights!" Hermione knew she was clutching at straws and she knew she was probably rehashing what everyone else in the room had already brought up.

She didn't care. A wave of hysteria threatened to overthrow her, and Ginny leapt from the lounge to make Hermione sit. Firmly gripping her younger friends arm, Hermione took a deep breath and raced through the possibilities.

Suddenly everything clicked together. Her mouth ran dry.

"They… the Ministry, they're leaning on St Mungo's too, aren't they? I've been, oh god. I've been helping them." Hermione felt as though she would be sick.

This outburst at least, seemed to startle the group.

"What do you mean, 'Mione?" Ron piped up. Mr Weasley and Kingsley were exchanging dark looks, while Percy gasped to her right.

"When you asked about Huxley?" He asked her tentatively, earning a questioning look from Ron.

Hermione nodded at the carpet in front of her, not looking up as she addressed the room.

"They've had 17 new interns in and the place has been swarming with Ministry officials all day. They wouldn't tell me what we were looking for, I swear! I just got told to analyze the initial results. They were looking at Agrippa, Faerie wings and Nightshade. Illegal Contraceptives. As well as a Fertility Solution. I thought, I mean, I assumed they were exploring the binary opposition to enhance the effect of the fertility potion, but... Oh God. They're working on a way to render contraceptives useless." Hermione buried her head in her hands.

_You're a horrible person Hermione Granger. Attempting to be the best, yet again, and look where it's got you. You've let this happen. You've helped this happen._

"Hermione, this isn't your fault" Harry spoke up from the floor, reaching across to pat her arm awkwardly. "You weren't to know. At least now we know the full extent. This isn't your fault."

Kingsley and Arthur stood to the side, quietly discussing this new revelation. Ron was muttering something soothing in her ear, but she ignored him, trying to come to grips.

_You'll have to get married._

_At 19._

_Oh God. _

Raising her head from her hands, she looked Kingsley dead in the eyes.

"What happens if we don't?"

Once again a tense silence filled the room. Mrs Weasley looked set to break it, when Kingsley, in his deep resonate voice answered her.

"You have 30 days to find a suitable match. At the end of the 30 day period, the Ministry will pair all remaining candidates together, and you have another 7 days to comply with the law."

"But you won't have to worry about any of that dear, we can have it all settled for you." Molly tried to soothe her, looking flustered at the young girl's reaction.

"What happens if you refuse to comply after the full 37 days?" Hermione continued.

"But-," Molly attempted to interrupt.

Kingsley didn't bat an eyelid as he stared the young witch down. "Azkaban."

Hermione simply nodded. It seemed she couldn't be shocked any further. It was simply all too much to take in. She had 30 days to either become Mrs Ron Weasley or rot away in Azkaban. Why was that suddenly a difficult decision? She loved Ron, didn't she? Hadn't she always wanted to be with him?

_Not like this. _

Not breeding the Ministries babies and hiding her research and spending endless, sleepless nights lying next to a snoring Ron. Wizard marriages were far more literal than Muggle ones. Till death do us part was not so much a sentiment as a binding magical contract.

"I need some air," she gasped to the room, before running out the back door.

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Hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think :)


	10. Chapter 10 - Air

Disclaimer: I owe everything to JKR, it's all hers.

Note: It's only a short chapter, but hopefully you won't hate me. Sorry!

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_Marriage, for a woman at least, hampers the two things that made life to me glorious - friendship and learning._

**Jane Harrison**

* * *

On a list of all the things Hermione needed right now, air was actually the least of her concerns.

Making her way down the side of the house, she attempted to slow her breathing, gulping down lungful's of the brisk night air and fighting back the urge to sob.

No. What Hermione needed was her mum. Her mum and her dad and a Ministry that wasn't archaic and destructive and completely bloody ridiculous. She needed a good cry and a good hug and she wouldn't have said no to good bottle of wine either.

But right now, a bit of air was the best she had.

Striding through the cool garden, Hermione was impervious to the Gnomes running back and forth, rustling the hedges, as the warm amber light spilled out of the burrow's windows, painting the long grass lawns. Hermione struggled to clear her mind and think objectively, but amidst the jumble of her thoughts, only two things were clear:

1- Hermione Granger was not going to let the Ministry of Magic dictate her life, or the innocent lives of others.

2- She had absolutely no bloody idea what she was going to do.

It seemed she was finally faced with an insurmountable task. No matter how she tried to break down the facts and reason the puzzle out, one thing remained. She needed more time. She couldn't stop this in 36 days.

_But I only have 36 days._

Sinking to the floor, Hermione put her head between her legs and took deep breaths. She knew she was panicking and she knew doing so was absolutely no help. She had come through worse than this. She had gone on the run, destroyed Horcruxes, escaped torture, robbed Gringotts and survived the final battle.

Finally, repeating this list as a mantra, Hermione calmed down. Before she could rally her strength and face the Burrow once more, a warm hand on her shoulder stopped her. Turning, she looked up into the brown eyes and freckled face of Ron Weasley.

'Hey,' Ron began, rather lamely.

"Hey, yourself," She smiled, hoping to ease the tension somewhat. Hopefully he'd sense she was fine now and leave her alone.

The silence stretched out between them.

The rustling of the wind through the hedges seemed amplified, and she was sure the gnomes had never frolicked quite so loudly. The garden was filled with more than shadows, it was like a symphony of the night. Each nameless croak and snap drifted on the wind, only serving to augment the penetrating quiet that had fallen between the pair.

For once Hermione was out of questions, no words sprang to mind to fill the awful void.

"So. What was all that about?" Ron finally asked, obviously uncomfortable with the entire conversation. Hermione couldn't tell in the dark but she thought she could see his ears reddening.

_What was all that about? Comforting as always Ronald._

"Well, Ron, to start off with: I came home from work and was told I had to get married or go to jail. For some reason, that set me off a bit."

Again, Hermione's outburst was greeted by a drawn out silence. She cursed herself and wished she could take the harsh tone back.

"So you're saying you don't want to marry me, then?" Ron snarled back at her, his temper shortening.

Hermione only sighed. She knew she shouldn't bait him. Every month or se he took it into his head that she didn't have time for him anymore: that she was cheating or no longer loved him. He became unreasonable and irate, blew up over the tiniest provocation, and then pretended nothing had happened the next day. Hermione had put up with it, reasoning that at least he wasn't ignoring her for weeks on end. Surely every relationship had the same pitfalls. She was well aware that this conversation was leading down that well-worn track.

"Ron, that's not what I'm saying at all." She struggled to make it clear for him.

"You know I've always wanted to be with you, and that one day, I'll eventually want marriage and all the things that come with it. But we're 19, Ron. We are so, so young."

"Mum and dad got married young, and look how happy they are," he continued sulkily, staring out at the warm silent night. Hermione only sighed and rose to her feet.

"I'm not your mum, Ron. I'm certainly not going to marry you just because the Ministry says so. It's completely barbaric. I mean, surely you don't want our wedding to be at the Ministry's beck and call?" Hermione humoured him, attempting another approach.

Ron seemed to light up at this, and Hermione fervently hoped he finally understood her.

"Is it just the romance then? Because honestly, 'Mione, I can make it romantic." His tone was excited, and Hermione was horrified as he got down on one knee.

"Come on, Hermione, Marry me? Please?"

Hermione looked down at Ron's sweet, painfully hopeful look. Reaching out she caressed the side of his face, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and make this all go away. _He would never understand_.

"Get up, Ron." She said, her eyes downcast and voice full of sorrow. Kissing him now wouldn't make everything better.

_Hermione Granger you are a terrible person_.

As he knelt on the dark wet grass, face coiling with the emotions and thoughts he was desperately struggling to process, the back door opened and the scene was flooded with light.

Molly stood at the precipice of the door, taking in Hermione's shocked face and Ron still kneeling on the grass, with none other than Severus Snape trailing along behind her. Molly's frown deepened.

"Hermione, Severus here said he needed a word with you. Something about your _research."_

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__I only wish I had some form of artistic talent so I could capture the tableau that's in my head. Oh well. I am sorry it's so short, more to follow though so please review and let me know what you think. Thanks once again to Moi and heartmom88 for your brilliant feedback as well as everyone else!


	11. Chapter 11 - Unspoken assumptions

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good: Everything belongs to JKR, I'm just causing havoc with it.

Note: Just a warning that I won't be able to update for a few days, so I thought I'd leave you with a longer chapter to make up for it. Hope you enjoy, and thank you all so much for your fabulous reviews. I almost felt bad for ending it where I did... almost. ;)

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_If you follow reason far enough it always leads to conclusions that are contrary to reason. _

**Samuel Butler **

* * *

When Severus was nine, the local school he attended had hosted a camping trip. By that time he knew he was a wizard just as he knew his father was a bastard. So it had come as a shock when his mother had strung together what little extra grocery money there had been, and signed him up to go. Being bullied in a tent after traipsing through mud for two days turned out to have been better than being bullied at home. He had smugly used his magic to keep his feet warm and his socks dry. He failed, however, to protect himself from ticks.

It took him a full three days to notice the swelling itching lump on the back of his thigh, and he found himself both nauseated and oddly intrigued by the swelling blood bag buried in the taut, inflamed flesh. It was the first time his mother had ever hurt him, applying a freshly blown out match to the spot, before slowly and steadily pulling at the parasite with a pair of rusty tweezers. His father had looked on from his ratty armchair, nursing a bottle of grog and daring him to cry out, or protest at the painful muggle method.

He kept silent as his mother brought the bloody dot before his eyes. She'd explained the toxins and garbage that would have seeped into his bloodstream had she removed the offensive lodger hastily. The method of extraction was more painful than the actual bite. Severus had found the subtle cruelty of it all intriguing.

Hermione Granger was, for all intents and purposes, a Tick.

She'd been feeding off him, quietly and painlessly for long enough. Now the itch was starting to kick in. It was as if his mind was enflamed. He couldn't work, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't sit or read or drink without thinking of how she had torn through his life yet again.

Oh, he had tried to leave it alone, to let the swelling die down, but he knew that if he let this fester any longer the wounds would become toxic. He had a new life now. All he wanted was peace.

And so it was that Severus Snape stood before his wardrobe, staring down dispassionately at his old teaching robes. The carefully constructed iron maiden that he'd spent the last 20 years trapped within. He generally wore loose trousers and plain white shirts, favouring the light cotton over the worst of his neck and throat.

Mind carefully blank, he pulled on the heavy black wool and went about doing up the endless rows of buttons. He didn't especially want to do this. To set foot in the burrow, to be ogled at and face the red-haired army who would, no doubt, rush to sainted Granger's defence. He had an unpleasant suspicion that Potter would be there too, thereby completing the nightmare.

Still, the extraction of a tick was the most painful part. He would bring out her shameful deed; no doubt ruining her triumph amongst the Weasley clan. It was no more than brandishing about a deadened match. It should make it easier to draw out the formal recognition of his work later on. And he was determined on that score. He wanted acknowledgment and once he got it, he was sure this endless nagging feeling would abandon him at last. He could go back to his small life and small pleasures. He would be content again.

Sweeping through the sparse lounge room, Severus flung a handful of powder in to the burgeoning green flames. He stood staring at the glowing hearth before realizing he had no idea where Granger actually lived. Surely, she and that red headed menace were an item now, and he couldn't imagine the hormonal couple still living in the cramped family home. More likely they had some cramped flat instead.

Growling quietly at this unforeseen complication, Severus threw yet another handful of powder into the grate.

"Headmistress' Office, Hogwarts." He grumbled.

* * *

Kingsley had dropped the documents off at 4 in the morning. She had been one of the first he'd confided in and Minerva was lucky for the early warning. There were a full 27 students, a mix of Muggle-borns and first generation Half-bloods, who would be coming of age this year and affected by the law. Scanning the list, the faces of her charges swam through her mind, many of whom she had taught since they were children. This law would turn Hogwarts on its head.

It had taken her a full hour and a half to calm down once Kingsley had left. The walls still bore scorch marks. How dare they. How dare the Ministry tear apart their newly won peace with their insidious, interfering laws? She was furious. Once she was level headed enough to sit without exploding magic, she had left the figures on her desk, and set about completing the day's tasks.

It was only now, a little past 8 in the evening that she sat down, composed enough to finally go through the figures. Two pages into the notes and the true scale of the damage became clear. The amount of potential that would be squandered in catering to the ministry's baby-boom demand was sickening. While Muggle-borns were a minority amongst the Wizarding population, the percentage of wizards and witches with one non-magical parent and the other muggle-born were surprisingly high. Muggle-borns often felt divided between the two separate societies, and for every Muggle-born that married a witch or wizard, another married a muggle. The figures were not looking good.

Fighting the urge to lay her head on the desk, or worse incinerate it, Minerva grimly looked up to see the fireplace flaring green. More bad news. Then again, perhaps it was only Kingsley checking to see that she hadn't suffered another stroke from sheer rage.

When instead the lank, oily hair and impassive, sallow face of Severus Snape swam into focus, Minerva thought she could feel the muscles of her heart give a groan of protest. It was far too many shocks for a woman of her age, particularly after the Umbridge-stunning incident.

"Severus! To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked, her brogue accident betraying her shock somewhat. He never, _ever_ floo'd her. All contact in their relationship was limited to her periodically checking in on him to make sure he hadn't drowned himself in fire whisky and done something foolish.

"Pleasure was always a terrible euphemism for surprise." The man drawled up at her.

"Yes, well, you can't deny it's not out of the blue. When was the last time you called."

"I'm offended. We converse regularly via the floo." While his face remained impassive, the tone was all but saturated in irony.

She bristled at this; Severus was always able to get a rise out of her.

"Severus Tobias Snape, what do you want?"

He merely raised an eyebrow at her irritated outburst, the corner of his mouth rising slightly.

"I need to know where Miss Granger currently resides." He drawled, seemingly bored.

Minerva's chest thumped again. It seemed the world was conspiring against her weak heart today. Why on earth would the dour man need to know that? Perhaps… No. Her thoughts were running away with her.

Minerva gave the younger man a shrewd look, but his face, though expectant gave nothing else away. She was sure Kingsley would have no reason to broach the news of the law to Severus. He was a near recluse, and had severed all ties to those in the Order.

In any case, it had been some time since Hermione had given her a missive to pass onto Severus. Minerva doubted the two had any established correspondence; she could see the same growing pile of unopened mail every time she floo'd him. Besides, Hermione was settled with Ronald now and Severus was well aware of the fact. Or he ought to be if he knew what was best for him.

Her lips had pursed into a thin line while she pondered the implications of the request. She knew better than to simply ask Severus Snape 'why'. Still, she trusted that whatever this was about, Severus meant no harm. Not to mention Hermione was more than bright enough to sort the infuriating wizard out; should it come to that.

Severus' head hovered unflinching in the grate as he allowed the silence to continue uninterrupted. His face still gave nothing away.

"She's staying at the Burrow. She and Ronald Weasley have settled there, much to Molly's triumph."

Severus only nodded, departing from the grate with a brief thank you. Minerva was left staring at the empty hearth, still wondering what on earth had happened.

* * *

The Burrow's kitchen was full when he entered, and clustered with noise. How incredibly typical of the Weasley clan, he thought cynically.

Molly stood standing at the window, futilely drying a dish with a thoroughly sodden tea towel and completely oblivious to Severus' entrance at the grate. At the long kitchen table, the rest of the red headed clan sat almost soberly. Sure enough, Potter was there, clutching the hand of Miss Weasley and throwing far from furtive glances out the window. Fluer Delacour and, somewhat surprisingly, Oliver Wood were the only other breaks in a sea of ginger. It was Arthur Weasley who spotted Severus first, his eyebrows shooting up his face while his every emotion was broadcasted to the world. Not even age could subdue a Gryffindor.

"Severus! Come in, come in! What brings you here?"

For all his Gryffindor traits and appalling offspring, Severus had always admired Arthur's gentility. The man had never once antagonised him during the often-heated Order meetings, and once or twice had fended Molly off before he was smothered to death.

At the Weasley Patriarch's greeting, all eyes in the crowded kitchen flew to Severus, and he met the stares with a carefully constructed sneer, offering no words of greeting or small talk. Steeping through the Floo, he addressed the room at large.

"I need an audience with Miss Granger."

Every jaw dropped and a shocked silence filled the room.

Severus doubted he could have produced such a reaction by apparating in wearing his full death eater garb. Honestly, he knew he'd been away for a year but this sort of reception was rather over the top. Even for Gryffindors. Mr Weasley's mouth opened and shut over and over again, much like a fish. Mrs Weasley had let the copper plate clatter to the floor unheeded, staring at him before letting her eyes flit to the window, as though running through a series of complex calculations.

Of course, it was Potter who broke the silence.

"You want what?" Ahh. He should have factored in for Potter's overwhelming protective streak.

"Eloquent as ever Mr Potter. I need to speak to Miss Granger regarding her article."

If Severus had not been used to Potter's look of utter confusion, he may have found his reaction funny. As it was, the same look of bewilderment was mirrored throughout the room. This wasn't what Severus had expected. He had prepared himself for an onslaught of deafening cries, each loudly protesting Granger's innocence.

Interesting.

Molly had evidently recovered from her shock, or perhaps horror, and was now eyeing him suspiciously.

"What article?" She asked warily, arms firmly crossed.

Severus slowly raised an eyebrow, hiding his true surprise in the laconic expression as he surveyed the room once more. There were no signs of recognition. It seemed they were all truly ignorant.

Smoothly extracting the somewhat wrinkled article from his robes, Severus handed it to the Weasley Matriarch. He stood expressionless as her eyes flit over the page, her face draining of colour.

"Right. _Right_. Well then. She's just outside with Ron." Her lips had thinned dramatically as she handed over the article to her husband. Arthur's reaction was far less dramatic than his wife, but he still handled the worn paper gingerly, as though it was extremely volatile material.

Then again, Severus inwardly smirked, perhaps that was the case after-all. It seemed Miss Granger was far less of a Gryffindor than he had first acknowledged. Still maintaining his blank mask, he followed Mrs Weasley out of the back door and down the side passage, catching, out of the corner of his eye, the younger Weasley's scuffle to snatch the article from their father. Moving along the shadowed side of the house and down the sloping lawn, Severus stopped dead at the sight that befell him.

Miss Granger was staring down at a kneeling, obviously distressed, Ronald Weasley. Even wearing the dumpy lime green St Mungo's robes, it was clear the little know-it-all had matured. As far as he could make out, the youngest Mr Weasley hadn't changed at all. His face was pained with a dawning comprehension and burgeoning horror. Severus could only suppose he had unwittingly walked in on a proposal, and an unsuccessful one at that.

_Curiouser and curiouser_

"Hermione, Severus here said he needed a word with you. Something about your _research."_

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Hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you think :) I couldn't resist the tick analogy, I hope it wasn't too much of an Aussie bush problem and that you could still relate to it.


	12. Chapter 12 - Tempers lost

__Disclaimer: Much to my own personal disappointment, I did not write Harry Potter and I do not own Severus Snape. Would that I could.

Note: The alternate title of this chapter is 'Chapter Twelve: In which I made Tara wait longer than 24 hours for an update.'

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_It is impossible for you to be angry and laugh at the same time. Anger and laughter are mutually exclusive and you have the power to choose either._

**Wayne Dyer **

* * *

_"Hermione, Severus here said he needed a word with you. Something about your research."_

_Shit._

Hermione wanted to sink into the ground and die quietly. Ron, on the other hand, didn't seem to share her mortification.

"Wait, you never said Snape works at St Mungo's too?" He blurted out, completely forgetting their current situation. Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from her old potions professor as he glared disdainfully at the still kneeling Ron.

"No." The dour man sneered, his voice low and gravelly; a far cry from it's former silkiness. "I've not sunk that low yet."

Silence met this pronouncement, and Snape merely turned his head, looking Hermione dead in the eyes as he continued, face completely blank.

"I meant Miss Granger's personal research." He raised a challenging eyebrow at her look of horror. Hermione's mouth was dry and she tried desperately to swallow. She could practically feel Ron's scorching gaze and knew without a doubt that her young lover was about to explode. Spinning around she tried to grab onto his arms.

"Private research? What the bloody hell is he on about Mione." His voice still held the last strung out tenors of hope, as though Ron was still holding on to a vision of Hermione turning around, saying yes, denying her research and kissing everything better.

"Ron, look, it's just an article I wrote. It's- it's not important. I didn't want to bore you with it. Go inside and we'll talk later okay? Ron?" She couldn't help but hear the pathetic pleading that soaked through her voice. She just wanted some control over the situation. Why was everything falling to pieces?

_It's no more than you deserve_, _Liar_

"No I'm not bloody going inside. What article? So you've been shut up in that room all year, buried in books and avoiding me and for what? For what, Hermione? Not for work or our future or any god damned internship."

Ron's face had turned as blood red as his hair and his eyes were filled with hurt. He roughly shoved her hands away. To make matters worse this entire scene was being played out in front of Molly, who stared accusingly from her son to Hermione, while Snape looked on, largely ignored.

"Look Ron, I'm sorry but if you just calm down we can talk about this and-"

"No! I'm not calming the fuck down. You've made it clear enough. Even Thick old Ronald Weasley can work this one out."

"Ron please, don't do this, just let me explain."

"I'm not doing this Mione, you are, and there's no need to bloody explain. You'd rather face the dementors than marry me; rather huddle up with a load of books than me, it's clear enough. I know when I'm not wanted."

"Please Ron, listen, I-" She pleaded, before realising she was yelling to the empty air. Ron had disaperated with a sharp crack.

Hermione stood staring into the darkness where he'd stood just moments ago, while Mrs Weasley tacitly retreated to the house without saying a word. She was almost hyper aware of her ex-professor, the face of her many nightmares and one of her greatest failures standing stock-still, impassively watching her. For some inexplicable reason, Hermione refused to address him first. It was he who had brought this all upon her.

_That's hardly true, you brought this on yourself Hermione._

His resonant voice finally pierced the charged night air.

"We both know why I'm here Granger, I want what's mine"

Hermione felt her cheeks blush incriminatingly, but she stayed silent.

"While your research was, admittedly ingenious-

_Was Snape actually complimenting her?_

- We both know you lack the capacity to have considered Distilment on your own merit."

_Obviously not then._

"I must admit Granger, I should have never thought you capable of academic theft- nor such secrecy. It is a wonder you weren't sorted into my house after all."

Hermione finally turned to the sneering man and was flooded with more rage than she had ever experienced. How dare he? Nothing that had happened up until now had pushed her so far. The marriage law? Fine. Ron leaving? Manageable, but for him to accuse her of theft!

"You vile loathsome git! How dare you!" Hermione spluttered as her brain, flooded as it was with emotion, staggered to achieve some fragment of coherent thought.

"I mailed you for weeks! I sent you at least half a dozen letters asking for your input, your guidance and finally your bloody permission! I mailed you personally, I mailed your slot at hogsmeade, I physically handed Professor McGonagol a message to give to you! Don't you dare accuse me of theft! If you hadn't spent the year in voluntary excommunication you'd have heard of this months ago!"

Snape seemed genuinely taken aback by the witch's outburst. His face gave little away but for the widening of his eyes and the abandonment of his smirk. _I did not just explode at Severus Snape. I am dead. _Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath, waiting to be cursed, stunned or generally reprimanded. She watched as Snape quickly pulled himself together, and was shocked when he only raised an eyebrow derisively.

"Tonight has been quite the night for lies, Miss Granger, why add to it? Letters or not, I want my book back." His face was a carefully controlled mask but his eyes; she could all but feel his eyes glaring daggers at her.

Hermione was fuming.

"Here! Take it! Accio Prince's book! I don't need it anyway, I'm more than capable of conducting my own research!"

_Well, mostly._

There was a dull thud from the second story, and then the screech of a rusty window opening before the textbook zoomed through the air towards the arguing pair. As it slowed to reach Hermione, Severus plucked it from the air, his eyes never leaving her face.

"And I want full acknowledgment on the patent rights." He sneered, the corners of his lips lifting in a snarl.

Hermione stared, gobsmacked.

Surely not: It wasn't possible.

How on earth could he not know?

Hermione had included him on the patent from the very beginning. The funds were probably sitting untouched in his vault as they spoke. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger had made an utter fool out of the ever-intimidating Severus Snape.

Something within Hermione snapped then, no doubt having been stretched to breaking point after the long dramatic day. She did the unthinkable. Part of her knew she'd regret it, that it could come to no good; but she really couldn't help it.

Looking a glaring Professor Snape in the eye, Hermione burst out laughing.

It was part hysteria, and part shock, but she simply couldn't stop. Even as her shoulders shook, even as tears ran down her face and abdomen began to ache, Hermione fought to regain composure- Failing miserably.

* * *

Severus was not amused.

He had diverged from the plan. Seeing the girl plead to an ignorant youth so beneath her, seeing her humiliated and ostracised for her academic nature and refusal to waste her life away as a replica of Molly Weasley, well, it had stirred the last ounce of pity within him. An ounce which if he was truthful, he thought had left him long ago.

So he had ignored the many barbs and insults he could have thrown at her. He had refrained from twisting the knife in her side any further. He had tried to be brief, to be direct and make it as painless as possible.

Only to be laughed at.

Needless to say, that sole remaining ounce of Pity had been incinerated in a fiery burst of rage. He had forgotten, he'd allowed her maturity, as well as his own sentimentality to cloud the facts. She had stolen his research. Passed it off as her own, lied to her family and friends about it, probably more to cover up the shameful dead than anything. Then she had hurled insults at him, and worst of all, laughed.

No student, former or otherwise, had ever, _ever_ laughed at him.

Tucking the tattered potions text into his robes without ever looking at it, Snape closed the gap between them, glaring furiously down at the still laughing witch.

"And just what, may I ask, is so very amusing? The sounds of your life falling apart? Your 'fiancé' walking out on you, the ire of your future _Mother in Law?_ I was so _surprised;_ I came here expecting to belittle a pride of lions; to turn them against their protected little cub. But it seems I didn't have to; you've done that all by yourself. Well-done Granger. Ever the know it all to spare her teachers work."

Severus looked down at the pale horrified face of Hermione Granger, but no pang of satisfaction followed. Still. She wasn't laughing now.

"You prick." Her face was bloodless as she attempted to rage back at him, but she evidently found nothing in the tank. He sneered down at her efforts; Defiant to the last it seemed.

"Language Miss Granger."

The witch only raised her chin, the action somewhat weakened by the tears trapped in the corners of her eyes.

"Get out. Talk to the ministry about the patent. Get out and take your bloody book with you." She managed to snarl back at him, before turning away angrily. Severus could sense that the witch was on the verge of tears, and had no desire to stay any longer. He had got what he wanted.

"Very well. Don't for a minute dream this is over Granger. I will get what's mine."

With a dramatic swirl of his robes, Severus apparated away, but not before he saw the girl drop to her knee's and lose control. Even as he stood alone in his sparse empty kitchen, the image remained as if burnt to his retinas.

So much for peace.

* * *

Note: I hope it lived up to the expectations, please review and let me know what you think :) Once again, sorry for the delay!


	13. Chapter 13 - Pauses

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or it's affiliated characters and creations, and I am not profiting from this work.

Notes: So a lot of reviews have asked for longer chapters, I hope you're happy with this one :) Thanks so much for all your reviews, it really does mean the world: Points to Moi (again!) for picking up on subtleties ;)

* * *

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

**Robert Frost**

* * *

Hermione was still awake when dawn crept in through the kitchen window. Curled up on the hard backed wooden chair, Hermione fought off the swirling wisps of exhaustion that threatened her vision, begging her to shut her eyes and lay her head on the table. She felt like she'd been emptied. Like there was nothing left.

But still she sat at the table and refused to take her eyes off the front door, waiting for Ron to come back. To walk in with his sheepish grin and pretend nothing had happened. Because that's what Ron was. That's what he did. Even when he'd spent weeks ignoring her existence, sending her through sleepless nights and weak weepy tear sessions, he'd come back and pretend everything was all right again; 'sure I'll help you with Buckbeak's case'. 'Of course Harry didn't enter his name in the goblet of fire.' 'Lavender was just a phase.' 'I wanted to come back as soon as I'd left, I just didn't know how to find you.'

No matter what, Ron had become a constant of her life. He always came back. She might have been left sitting, cold and miserable in a dark, empty kitchen for the rest of the night. She might have had to face the awkward glances and measuring stares of his brothers and parents. But when Ron came through that door Hermione was sure he'd pretend that none of it had happened. That their relationship was fine just as it was and none of this was really happening. And for all she knew it wasn't true, it's what she needed right now. The illusion could takesome of the sting from reality if she tried hard enough.

Still starring intently at the door, Hermione nearly kinked her neck at the flaring of the hearth.

"Ron?" She cried into the green flames, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. As the spinning head stopped, the untidy hair and familiar features of Harry came into focus. Hermione couldn't help but slump back against the stiff chair.

"Hullo Harry." She greeted glumly, attempting to manage a smile.

As his lanky form unfolded from the grate, Harry walked over and pulled her from the chair, enveloping her in a much-needed hug. Hermione was forcibly reminded of their time on the run after Ron's departure.

"How're you Hermione. Really?" He looked down at her, before taking his own seat and holding her hands over the table. Hermione collapsed back into her chair and took a shuddering breath before apologising.

"I am so, so sorry Harry. I should have told you, I should have told all of you. It's just everyone assumed it was for Mungo's and Ron kept arguing about it and I knew he'd be more upset if he thought I just didn't want to spend time with him- and it's not that I didn't want to spend time with him Harry! It wasn't! It was just something I needed to do, you know? For me. But most of the time he seemed fine, helping George or watching Quidditch or just going out with the boys and I didn't really enjoy those sorts of things anyway so I'd just go and read. It just dragged out and then the night before the article came out, we'd had a row and- Oh Harry; I've ruined everything."

Hermione hated herself as her body betrayed her and dissolved into great heaving sobs at the kitchen table. Harry awkwardly patted the back of her hand, not having got a word in edgewise.

As Hermione struggled to calm down, Harry attempted to soothe her.

"Come on Hermione, it's alright. You haven't ruined anything okay? It's you and Ron. You always fight. You always will. It's not like he didn't know you'd always love books and research. It's not some big surprise that you suddenly hate Quidditch. I mean you've still got other things in common you know." Harry stalled here, still petting her hand. "Like family and friends and stuff, and I mean, well… well you both care about each other so there's that… and…" Harry trailed off again and Hermione looked up to see a faint crease between his eyes, as though he was lost in a troubling thought. Sensing her gaze on his face, he snapped out of it, giving her a grin. "It's not ruined. You know Ron. He always comes back."

* * *

Ron was sat, skin drenched in the dawn sun and morning dew, his head resting directly under the Burrow's kitchen window. His long limbs were cramped and his trousers were sodden from the tall damp grass. His hands and face were numb from exposure to the biting cold wind. It had been dark when he stumbled up the grassy slope; just metres from where he'd knelt hours before. He'd just been able to make out Hermione's form swathed in a warm glow through the opaque glass window. With each step closer, the blurrier her image became. He wasn't sure if it was the tears or whisky.

In the end, it took him five minutes to make it to the door. Five bloody minutes, only to slide down the rough stonewall and sink to the grass_._ With his head resting just below the kitchen window, he could hear all the creaks and echoes of the old house. He could hear the faint snoring drifting down from the upper levels, and if he strained his ears hard enough he could just make out the drones and thuds of the ghoul in the attic.

But it was the lack of one particular sound that droned the loudest. Pressed against the wall, with only bricks and mortar separating him from the Kitchen, and Ron couldn't hear a peep. It was eerie. To be so close to Hermione, and at the same time, so very, very far.

Ron wasn't sure what he was listening for at first. It's not that he wanted to catch her crying, to hear her sobs. He wasn't listening to prove he was the only one upset. No. The longer he sat there, ignoring dawns slow passage through the garden, the louder and louder that silence grew. He just wanted to hear something; anything. He wanted to know what was going on in that head of hers. All he wanted was to understand what he had to do, what he needed to say or give to make this better.

Because the truth of it was that silence had been growing between the two of them from the very beginning. It was why they always seemed to surprise each other: why every touching word or action seemed to come straight out of the blue. Because neither really knew what the other was going through, what they were thinking or feeling. They had known each other for years but it was all still so foreign.

Ron sighed quietly and cracked his neck, before stretching his arms and legs out in front of him. When he'd first left, he'd apparated on instinct to Diagon Alley. With no-where else to go, the narrow cobbled street seemed as good a place as any. His feet carried him down the same well worn path, past the ghost-like façade of Grignotts, white marble glowing in the shadows, past the ever dusty windows of Ollivander's, and up to the purple crooked structure of his brother's shop. He still thought of it that way, for all the improvements he'd made. He'd spent a good hour simply pacing around the back room. Then he'd reached for the fire-whisky kept for 'emergencies' in the cupboard under the sink.

He shuddered now to think of the thoughts that raced through his head. Hermione not wanting him. Hermione never wanting him. No-one ever wanting him. He imagined his family laughing at him behind his back, his brothers chalking it up as yet another of ickle ronikins shortcomings. There'd been a mad moment where he'd pictured Hermione studying with some faceless healer, with a lockhart profile and wide smarmy grin as they laughed at her stupid gormless boyfriend waiting at home.

He wasn't proud of any of those thoughts. Even now he was awash with self-hatred for not going inside. But the more he had drunk, the faster and faster those thoughts formed, entrapping him and seeping doubts through the cracks of his mind. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and he supposed he was lucky that this time he'd been at work, too far away to let his insecurities ruin his life once more. He couldn't count the times they'd run him under and caused him to fuck it up with Mione. He'd been lucky that she hadn't left him really. That when he came in the next day they could go on like nothing had happened.

_Fuck._ Ron thought.

Then he thought it twice over for good measure.

Running his fingers through the stubble at his chin, Ron wearily attempted to think up a plan of attack. He just needed a mode of strategy: A nice, basic Chess play. The trouble was, in wizard's chess at least; the King's never took the Queens. In fact, for a King to take the offensive at all meant the game was already half lost.

Deep within his chest, a nagging twinge seemed to grab at that thought. That he was well on his way to losing Hermione for good. Gritting his teeth, Ron refused to give in to the dark thoughts that sought to tear his chest apart from the inside out.

He and Hermione were meant to be together. It was always supposed to happen this way.

Scrap the King idea then. That's all he had to do. He'd come at the problem like the Knight. Drop in from the side with something she wasn't expecting. Well. That wasn't too hard he supposed. She was probably expecting him to go in piss drunk. Luckily he'd only had 5 or 6 – he was perfectly in control of himself. Mostly.

She was undoubtedly waiting to apologise to him. So all he had to do was apologise first right? She wouldn't be expecting that. Ron could come off the martyr, willing to forgive her deception. So long as she agreed to spend a bit more time with him of course. He just needed to convince her that she no longer needed to prove herself, no longer need to be the smartest, or use her brains 24/7. She had him now.

Ron smoothed his hair flat, before breathing into his palm and smelling his breath. Mhmm. Maybe she wouldn't notice the stale smell of whisky from afar. He'd just give it a while before he went in for a kiss.

Brushing the dirt off his shirt and trousers, Ron got ready to face the kitchen._ It'll be alright this time. She'll have calmed down. Thought it through._ Ron ran this mantra through his head, repeating it over and over. Pushing his weight onto his hands, he rose to his knee's when he heard Hermione shout from inside.

"Ron?"

He quickly ducked down again. _What the fuck? The witch had the eyes of a bloody hawk!_ _She was going to skin him alive when she found him kneeling out here by the window._

Ready to throw his arms up in protection, he watched the back door, waiting for his witch to rocket out, hexes flying from her wand. The door sat silent, staring back at him and it was then Ron strained to hear low voices coming from inside.

_Thank Merlin's favourite tea cosy._

Pressing himself back against wall, Ron caught the higher tones of Hermione, mid conversation.

"…so sorry Harry. I should have told you, I should have told all of you. It's just everyone assumed it was for Mungo's and Ron kept arguing about it and I knew he'd be more upset if he thought I just didn't want to spend time with him- and it's not that I didn't want to spend time with him Harry! It wasn't! it was just something I needed to do, you know? For me. But most of the time he seemed fine, helping George or watching Quidditch or just going out with the boys and I didn't really enjoy those sorts of things anyway so I'd just go and read. It just dragged out and then the night before the article came out, we'd had a row and- Oh Harry; I've ruined everything."

Ron was utterly thrown. He didn't know what to think, what to feel. Resting his head in his hands he concentrated on the deeper, calmer voice of his best mate.

"Come on Hermione, it's alright. You haven't ruined anything okay? It's you and Ron. You always fight. You always will. It's not like he didn't know you'd always love books and research. It's not some big surprise that you suddenly hate Quidditch. I mean you've still got other things in common you know."

The pause stretched on for an eternity as Ron strained to listen.

"Like family and friends and stuff, and I mean, well… well you both care about each other so there's that… and…"

_And what?_ Part of Ron was begging, pleading for Harry to continue.

He didn't.

"It's not ruined. You know Ron. He always comes back."

Ron wasn't sure how long it took him to stand and enter the kitchen. Time seemed displaced, shattered by the very same conversation that had torn his mind in two. The fireplace was cold, floo powder still dusted on the floor and Ron knew, vaguely and inexplicably, that he had missed Hermione by some length of time. The sun was shining directly through the mangy lace curtains now and it would be mere moments until his mum would be down for breakfast.

Ron moved as if in a dream, feet guiding him aimlessly through the house and up the creaky wooden stairs until he found himself staring at Percy's door. Without thinking of what drew him to it, Ron pushed the dark oak door aside and took in the room before him. Books were piled everywhere, dwarfing the bed, dresser and wardrobe. The old wooden desk was an island in the sea of books, but that to was drowning in pages and pages of handwritten notes. Collapsing into the only free chair, Ron peered down at the all too familiar handwriting.

It didn't matter that the letters swam before him, blurry and indistinct. Even as the tears flooded his vision, the words rang out crystal clear.

_You've still got other things in common you know_

Even on the yellowing parchament, the echoing pause somehow found purchase.

_Like family and friends and stuff, and I mean, well…_

_-Well you both care about each other so there's that… and… _

_It's not like he didn't know you'd always love books and research. It's not some big surprise that you suddenly hate Quidditch._

The words ran and streamed, over and over, coursing through his mind even as the room and the desk and the papers blacked out from his vision. _It's not some big surprise_. Why hadn't he seen it then? Why did it hurt so fucking much? Why, when he closed his eyes and thought back, did he see Hermione decked out for the Yule Ball, dolled up for his brothers wedding? Why did he see her with a head full of sleek-eazys?

Ron felt, as if from a long way away, his breathing turn to short, shallow breaths. He could dimly feel his heart thundering, his pulse beating as thought filled with fire. Before his eyes flashes of a Hermione he'd somehow forgotten, buried up to her nose in books in the corner of the common room, always the last to leave the library, toting round a bag of books heavier than she was. He'd been so thick. Everything was falling apart and he was far from guiltless. He'd fallen in love with the idea of Hermione, not who she really was. She'd probably done the same with him. That's if she even loved him at all. As the memories came faster and faster he felt his breath shudder and his throat close, his vision swimming before everything was awash with a fiery red veil. He felt the dull thud of his head meeting the floor before everything went black.

* * *

Molly awoke to the smell of smoke. Grumbling into her pillow, she hoisted herself over the side of the bed and shuffled into her slippers. _Breakfast burning_. She made it all the way to the hallway before she remembered she hadn't started breakfast yet. Panic setting in, she followed the smell of burning wood, racing up the stairs before she crashed into Percy's old room.

There on the floor lay Ron, flames running up his right arm while the desk in the far corner went up in smoke. Swiftly brandishing her wand, Molly doused the room with a high-powered spray of water. Kneeling over the now moaning Ron, Molly couldn't help but note the reek of whisky on his breath, or his wand, lying untouched in his trousers pocket. Grasping at her boy's burnt arm, Molly spared no thought for the blackened notes spread upon the burnt desk, reduced to nothing more than ash. All that mattered was getting her poor foolish, dolt of a son to St Mungo's. Everything else could wait.

* * *

Note: Please read and review! Also thank you to everyone who hit follow or favourites, you have earned my eternal love :)


	14. Chapter 14 - Laughter

Disclaimer: Not JKR. If I was Snape would have lived and all my OTP's would be canon.

Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! All your comments were brilliant and it's really reassuring that you enjoyed the characterisation of Ron; he's the one I find hardest to write. Anyway, hope you enjoy, continue to review! :)

* * *

_Comedy is defiance. It's a snort of contempt in the face of fear and anxiety. And it's the laughter that allows hope to creep back on the inhale._

**Will Durst**

* * *

Ginny Weasley was an absolute menace.

And to think; Hermione had griped about Harry when he had quietly convinced her to return to Grimauld Place with him. Refusing to take no for an answer, Harry had all but marched her to the floo. She had seen the logic of it all at the time: Ron would probably arrive back drunk and rearing for a row, while Hermione knew that on less than four hours sleep in the last two days, she was completely ill-equipped to delicately deal with the situation. Not to mention it would probably occur in the middle of the Weasley's breakfast.

So she had relented. Grasping Harry's hand they spun through the whirling green vortex, before stepping out into the now clean and airy kitchen of Grimauld Place.

Where Ginny had promptly bullied her into having a cup of tea.

A nice, soothing cup of tea.

Delicately laced with dreamless sleep.

Hermione had woken up in a comfortable languor, stretching out on the wide double bed and sinking further into the luxurious mink duvet. In those fleeting moments of semi-consciousness she'd been completely and utterly content. Until she remembered she didn't own mink duvet and Percy's bed was a cramped single pressed up against the wall with a dodgy spring in the far left corner.

Peeking above the soft covers, Hermione recognised the spare bedroom as the one she and Ginny had shared in the summer of fifth year. Admittedly it had come through some stringent renovations since then. Soft golden sunlight streamed through the beige blinds, setting the lightly floating dust alight. Hermione groaned, wondering exactly how long she'd been asleep.

_Scratch that, exactly how long since I was drugged. _

Still in her crumpled, and by now slightly mangy St Mungo's robes, Hermione padded down the stairs. While she would have sorely loved to stream down them, billowing profanities for the entire house to hear, she knew nothing, certainly not a bit of sleeping potion, was worth waking the menace that was Mrs Black's portrait.

Arriving in the kitchen Hermione couldn't help but glare at the somewhat sheepish looking boy-who-lived. Harry was sat at the table, paper stretched in front of him while Ginny sat across from him, legs unfolded across his lap.

"Told you she'd be angry" Harry muttered to the fiery red head, as Ginny looked over her shoulder to offer Hermione an infuriatingly innocent smile.

"Angry, does not cover it. What time is it? How long was I out? Have you heard from Ron?" Hermione felt the slight vestiges of a headache pierce her newly won peace. With each question that she couldn't help but shoot out, another memory from the night before came to light.

"Oh god, have you heard from your mum Ginny? Should I go and pick up my stuff?" Hermione's head thumped again as she realised she had nothing to her name bar the creased lime robes on her back.

"And I've missed work. Sullivan will go sparse. They're going to- oh but If I went back…"

Hermione's mouth went dry as she remembered precisely what was waiting for her back at work.

This time it was Ginny, not Harry, who rose from the table forcing her down onto a chair while lightly slapping her on the cheek.

"Right. Hermione. Calm down. It's only 11 o'clock."

"Ginny! Don't hit her! Hermione are you okay"

"I didn't hit her!" Ginny huffed. "She's going into shock again. Trust me, you weren't there the day she realised she'd missed her entire seventh year and had a matter of months to go through it."

Ginny paused here, looking down at the Hermione. Hermione knew on some level what she must look like, and endeavoured to close her gaping mouth and take deep calm breaths.

"Actually, you know, she might have been worse that day." Ginny mused out loud.

Harry looked from his girlfriend to Hermione's still pale face, obviously not sure what to do next.

"Uh, tea. I'll make us some tea." He mumbled

Those, it seemed, were the magic words after all.

"No!" Hermione's face quickly flushed with colour again as she abandoned her calm breathing. "If you think for one minute I'm drinking any thing in this house ever again, you must be out of your mind Harry Potter."

Ginny only laughed at this, patting her heartily on the back.

"There we go, that's our Hermione." The younger redhead beamed

"Honestly, I swear I didn't know that tea was drugged-" Harry's guilt was nearly palpable.

"Oh fantastic loyalty there Harry! The chosen one; dobbing on his girlfriend to save his own bloody skin. Lovely" Ginny mock-squabbled.

"I'd rather face Riddle a hundred times over, thank you very much." Harry tartly retorted, all the while smiling at Ginny's false fury.

"Ginny Weasley, you are worse than all your brother's combined." Hermione growled, eyeing the witch accusingly.

"Thank you" she said, as Harry laughed behind her.

"I'll tell you one thing Hermione." Harry started as he finished laughing, "Mad Eye would have never forgiven you."

Hermione only groaned. The brightest witch of her age, a budding potion's apprentice working towards her masters- drugged with a perfectly detectable brew.

"Harry! I think given the circumstances-" She whined, before Harry interrupted her

"Constant vigilance!"

"- it's not like I was expecting my two best friends to drug me –"

"Constant Vigilance!" Ginny growled, joining in.

Hermione caved, unable to stop herself from laughing along. For the briefest few minutes, her world was confined to the rolling ache of her stomach as she gave in to the infectious laughter. It was enough, that even after everything she had done, after the months of guilt and secrets and pent up fear, that she could sit here and laugh with two people who had every right to turn her away.

Suddenly Hermione wasn't laughing so much as crying.

"Hermione! What's wrong" Harry jumped up, immediately forgetting his laughter

"Sweetie, We were only teasing! Hermione?" Ginny crooned, leaning over the table and clasping her hand.

"You just- It just, it means so much, that you're still here and you haven't, I mean, you haven't turned me away. I am so sorry, to both of you. I- Harry, you're my best friend and I should have told you, and Ginny, Ron's your brother and I can't, I can't ever-"

"Hermione, stop." Ginny's own brown eyes were glassed over, and regardless of the fierce determined look that overcame her face; Hermione knew the young girl was close to becoming just as upset as she was.

"I don't care what happens between you and my brother, okay? No matter what, you will always, always be a sister to me. Got it? You have nothing to be sorry about."

"She's right Hermione. I know now why you did it. After everything you've ever done for me, after all the things you've sacrificed to me, how could you ever, ever think I would turn you away?"

Hermione tried to swallow past the burning lump in her throat. Even as she nodded dumbly, the tears refused to stop. It seemed she had mistaken Harry after all. She still saw the boy who'd sided with Ron over a broomstick, who had left her in the library while he played with the boys. She had forgotten the man he'd grown to become. The man who'd forgiven her for breaking his wand, the man who'd nearly sacrificed his place in the second twi-wizard task rather than leave her behind; The man who had been ready to die, along with Ron, to rescue her from Bellatrix's ministrations.

"You're always welcome here, you know that right? No matter what else happens." He continued, oblivious to her inner thoughts.

"And I promise not to drug you again." Ginny added, with a tight watery smile.

Hermione barked out a laugh through her tears.

"I thought I told you. Never drinking here again, remember?" She hiccupped.

Again, the three of them laughed around the table, and Hermione's heart sang. Nothing, she thought, would ever ruin this moment for her.

The laughter in the room died, as the hearth flared to life, spilling green light over the grave face of Mr Weasley.

"Ginny, It's your brother. Harry, Hermione, you'd best come too. Ron's in St Mungo's."

* * *

"_I hope your soul rots forever in Azkaban you evil worthless git, hell would be too good for you." _

"_I am so sorry for everything you've been through, you really are a hero of the Wizarding world, our neglected saviour…"_

"_I don't care what anyone says, you're a murderer and you don't fool me for a second. Dumbledore got what he deserved for trusting you…" _

"… _it's so unfair how neglected you've been for all these years… Forget Lilly, I live in Sussex and there's always room for you at my small cottage, or my not so small bed…"_

"…_You tortured and killed my husband and I won't rest until each and every one of you death eaters are wiped off the face of the earth…"_

"… _Marry me, please..."_

"…_I hope you die in a pit of your own filth…"_

"…_We named our eldest after you…"_

"…_Two-faced coward…"_

"…_I always fancied you at school you know…" _

Severus couldn't decide which set of letter's disgusted him more. He was sat on the stone floor of his living room directly in front of the steadily glowing hearth. On either side of him sat a stack of letters, which he slowly dismantled, then fed to the flames. He'd been at it for at least four hours now, and the mountain of mail was still at an impressive height.

To think, he'd actually planned on sleeping tonight. He'd woken up that morning believing tonight was the night he'd reclaim his peace. Oh and he'd tried. He'd thrown the thrice-cursed book on the mantle place without giving it a second glance. He'd shed his oppressive woollen robes and collapsed onto his bed.

But the darkness was full of her laughter.

It played over and over in his head until his blood boiled with rage and his stomach filled with acid.

She had to have been lying.

_You know she wasn't fool._

But why would she mail him, asking for his permission, only to laugh when he demanded formal acknowledgement.

Of course, the voice in his head was silent on that point, leaving him to stare up at the ceiling working the puzzle over, trying to ignore the sound of her laughter coursing through the room. Getting up with a grunt, Severus begrudgingly admitted defeat. He wasn't going to get to sleep.

But he was going to get to the bottom of this.

There were only about 600 letters, after all.

* * *

Note: I can't help but picture Severus, moodily going through hundreds of letters, growling all the while. He defiantly needs a witch to help him laugh at himself. Perhaps a swotty know it all witch? ;)

Hope you enjoyed, please let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone else who hit follow and favourite too :)


	15. Chapter 15 - Pride of lions

Disclaimer: If any of you still refuse to believe I'm not JKR, I'm flattered but I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. Everything is her's and I am but a humble servant.

Notes: I still can't believe people are reading and enjoying this, so thank you so much to every single person who reviewed, followed or favourited. It really does mean the world. To those of you who were on the ball about the last chapter- I assure you that Severus will feel stupid for forgetting a simple Accio. Enjoy!

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_A mother takes twenty years to make a man of her boy, and another woman makes a fool of him in twenty minutes._

**Robert Frost**

* * *

Hermione's stomach was made of knots.

She, Harry and Ginny had all floo'd directly to the reception of St Mungo's while Mr Weasley left to alert Bill and Fleur. Hermione had no time for the recognition of the welcome witch, who stood expectant as they advanced past her. She didn't have time, while storming up the stairs two by two, to so much as glance at the Third Floor. It was all she could do to keep one foot in front of the other while holding on to the contents of her stomach. Sullivan and the Ministry toads could bugger themselves for all she cared. Reaching the fourth floor, Hermione let Harry and Ginny stream in front of her as she attempted to calm her nerves.

She wasn't sure what the greater source of apprehension was: Ron, or Molly.

Entering the smaller waiting area with her head held high, Hermione found neither. George was waiting, his elbows resting on his knee's as she stared down at the standard hospital-grade lino. Looking up at their entrance, George offered Ginny a shrug of acknowledgement, before looking guiltily up at Hermione. He opened his mouth to say something, before apparently thinking better of it.

"Well. Where is he?" Hermione heard herself demand. Once again, her mistakes were responsible for someone she loved. George merely nodded at a door to their immediate left, just as Mrs Weasley emerged

"Ginny is that you... oh."

Mrs Weasley abruptly stopped, taking in the sight of her daughter and Harry standing defensively by Hermione, before ducking back inside at the sound of a low moan from the next room. Ginny offered Hermione a sympathetic grimace, while Harry quietly took the seat next to George. She could appreciate his need to remain neutral she supposed. It didn't help the churning of her stomach though.

Mrs Weasley bustled into the room once more, pulling her shawls and cardigan around her and generally fidgeting wit her hands.

"Right. Ron wants to talk to you" Her lips thinned here, "You'd best go in"

There was a pause and Hermione was fairly sure everyone in the room had heard the unspoken '_Before do anymore harm"._

"Mrs Weasley, I, I just wanted to say sorry. I should have told you all from the beginning. I just wanted to atone for some of my mistakes, and well. I've been looking for something to help my parents as well. Not that that excuses anything, I just. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. Please believe me when I say I'm sorry."

Molly stood, her hands still fidgeting among her woollen layers, and while she was still biting the inside of her lips, her eyes seemed to warm for the slightest moment. But the moment passed when her eyes shot once more between Hermione and Ron's door.

"Yes, well…you'd better go in."

Hermione's heart stung. Molly's treatment of her hadn't always been entirely fair, and she could understand that the older witch would always put her son first, but Hermione couldn't help but remember when the motherly witch had taken her in, and treated her entirely like a daughter. Hermione couldn't help but feel she'd lost her mother all over again.

Swallowing, Hermione kept her head held high as she walked past the Weasley matriarch and into the slightly dimmed hospital room. The room's four beds were empty but for Ron, lying in the far right corner. He seemed to be completely coherent, but his arm was bandaged from his shoulder to his fingertips. Hermione's heart leapt to her throat as she quickly crossed the room.

"Hey" Ron muttered groggily, looking out the window to the busy London street below.

"Hey yourself." She swallowed nervously. Hermione was well aware of all the unspoken words that came to settle between them. The fight, the night spent alone and waiting, Ron's rejected proposal. They all came to hang in the air of the darkened room, like methane waiting for the strike of a match. But how could she start a row now, here? With Ron lying in hospital because of her, with his family waiting just outside. Hermione just couldn't bring herself to begin.

She was tired of fighting.

"How are you?"

_Fantastic opening Hermione, great input on the situation, perhaps Ron is rubbing off on you._

"Okay I guess. The Healers want to determine what sort of fire it was. They'll see what the scarring looks like tomorrow." Ron spoke slowly and steadily, as one might walk around a minefield.

"Look, Mione, I don't know if mum's told-"

"What happened Ron?" They both stopped awkwardly, having spoken over the top of each other.

"Sorry, go on" Hermione relented, her face flushing slightly.

"I- Look. Hermione, just, you know I'm really sorry right? I- the thing is, well…bloody hell." Ron stopped his spluttering and looked Hermione dead in the eyes. His face was full of regret, but it had a defiant edge to it too. It was the same defensive look he adopted when losing an argument.

"When I came in drunk, last night, I heard you and Harry talking-"

Hermione all but groaned, "Ron, look I've told you it's nothing like that-"

"No, let me finish Mione. I'd been sitting outside for ages, when it was just you in the kitchen and, well anyway. I heard you and Harry talking, and something just clicked you know."

Hermione was speechless as he continued. _So I was sitting in that Kitchen alone all night while Ron was just outside?_

"I get, well, I think I get, why you don't want to get married Hermione. I think you've known it for a while too. This isn't working."

Ron searched her face, as if hoping to pick up some sign or spasm that said he was wrong, that Hermione hadn't known, that she was shocked and upset and was about to prove him wrong.

But for once, it was all Hermione could do to sadly nod. It was one of the few times she felt no need to correct the boy lying despondent in the bed.

"Well. Uhm. As I said, it hit me. All at once like. The Healers reckon the Whisky didn't help much. I only came in once you'd left, and well. I don't know what made me, but I went upstairs, just to sit in your room for a bit. I just lost it Hermione. I'm so sorry."

Hermione stared down at Ron, not quite understanding what this had to do with anything.

Looking down at his arm, something finally clicked. It was his left arm swathed in bandages. But Hermione knew, after 7 years of magical education and a myriad of adventures, that Ron's Right was his wand arm.

Ron seemed perturbed at her lack of reaction.

"It wasn't intentional Mione, I swear. I was just sitting at your desk, when there was this wash of red, and the next thing I'm on the floor and there's fire everywhere."

Hermione couldn't stop the next words that sprang from her lips.

"My notes?"

Even as it came out of her mouth, Hermione wished she could have taken it back. She was meant to ask if he was okay. Or offer an apology, or forgive him. Anything, but the two simple words that had turned Ron's face to stone.

"Like I said. I never meant to touch your bloody notes alright?" Ron snarled defensively.

Hermione rested her head in her hands, looking determinedly out of the window while counting to ten. She would have given anything to run out into the jostling muggle crowd, to hill her lungs with the sooty London air. The silence of the room was dense, and the smell of disinfectant and plastic seemed to clog up her lungs. Ron was staring up at the ceiling now, possibly regretting his outburst.

Even if it hadn't been three flights of stairs to the exit, Hermione wouldn't be going anywhere. She was tired of running.

_All of my notes; Everything. And George's too. I'll have to start from scratch. I'll have to mark down everything I remember, and-_

It was then Hermione realised she didn't have time for any of that. The Ministry would be releasing it's law in four days.

_But Mum and Dad._

The silence had stretched out for some time, when Ron finally spoke, never taking his eyes from the ceiling.

"I really am sorry Mione. I never meant for this to happen. And I just want you to know, that if you get tired of hiding and fighting, my offer still stands you know. To marry me that is. We could make it work."

The lump in Hermione's throat returned in full force. It was this Ron, with his tactless Gryffindor chivalry that would always have a place in her heart.

"I couldn't do that to you Ron. It wouldn't be fair to either of us. This hasn't been working for quite some time now."

Ron offered her a sad smile. "I meant it, when I said I never aimed for any of this."

"I know Ron, It's not your fault. It's… well it's not anyone's fault." Hermione tried to sustain a forgiving tone, but her disappointment managed to seep through it.

_All my notes. Just when I'd finally finished. _

_When I need my parents the most._

"Can we… I mean. We can still be friends right? You don't hate me or anything?"

Hermione looked down at the round freckled face of the boy who'd once sent her running in tears to the girl's lavatories. She bit back a comment on how successful their friendship had ever been to begin with.

"One condition Ron."

Ron looked up at her, his eyes wide with nerves, and perhaps even a trace of fear.

"Never call me 'Mione again. I've always hated that name."

Ron opened his mouth before promptly closing it again. His grimace summed up more than words ever could. After all, there wasn't much left to say.

"I'll send Harry in." Hermione said quietly, before taking a deep breath and leaving the room. Entering the corridor once more, she nodded to Harry and Ginny while leaving the door open for them to enter.

Which left her alone with a mute George and a hostile Molly Weasley.

"Well. George dear, would you mind running up to the shop to get everyone some tea? There's a boy." Molly asked in a calm but steely voice. George shot Hermione an apologetic look before rising to his feet and setting off up the stairs.

"Right, Hermione." Molly was no longer fidgeting with her layers, and Hermione wasn't entirely sure whether that was a good sign or not.

"Dear, I hate to be indelicate, but given the situation I think it's best for everyone, if you were to remain at Ginny's, for the time being." Molly had placed her arms around the dumbstruck witch, and was sweeping her along down the corridor. Her words were clear and precise and it was obvious that the elder witch had been preparing this speech for some time.

"Now, Arthur is back at work, and visiting hours end in another hour or two, so if you were to leave now, you'd have time to clear away any, well; Any remaining material. We don't want anything to trigger Ron again, when he returns, Do we? I left most of it as I found it. I know, well, it's been made perfectly clear just how much that research means to you, hasn't it dear?"

Hermione felt a familiar upsurge of rage sweep through her system, momentarily rendering her speechless. Never; never had Hermione expected this from the seemingly benevolent Mrs Weasley. But just as swiftly as the rage was ignited, her overwhelming sense of guilt smothered the spark.

_Of course you can't stay there, idiot. Did you think everything would return to the way it was? You lied to all of them. You turned down their Son. Of course you deserve to be kicked out. At least she's being civil about it._

"I, I understand. I'll go clear everything out now." Hermione nodded.

Mrs Weasley only patted her on the shoulder, before leaving her alone at the mouth of the stairwell. Hermione didn't know what kept her fixed in the doorway, but she continued to watch as the motherly witch disappeared into Ron's room without so much as a backward glance.

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Please review, I tried to paint Molly in a fair, but protective motherly light, and I'd love to know what you think. Thanks so much for reading :)

A/N: Thank's to CRMediagirl for pointing out my mix up between Fred/George. How embarrassing. Also, life threatens to get in the way for the next few days so it could be a slightly longer wait for an update, I am sorry but hopefully you'll all live :)


	16. Chapter 16 - Correspondence

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and everything associated is the Property of JKR. I'm just a frequent visitor.

Note: I'm sorry this update took so long, life has been hectic and my entire weekend was claimed by the real world. Enjoy this chapter, you've been waiting for these letters for a while now ;)

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_More than kisses, letters mingle souls._

**John Donne**

* * *

Snape wasn't sure why he'd spent the day reading through hundreds of fucking letters. He must be losing it in his old age. Was he a wizard or not.

_You're a glutton for punishment you old fool. Did you really need those letters to tell you everything you already knew? Did you think listening to them would finally atone for your mistakes? There aren't enough letters in the world for that._

About 400 letters in, he exploded from the pile, leaping from the floor and pulling his wand from its sheath. His non-verbal Accio was perhaps a tad excessive, tearing four letters from the pile while sending the rest of the envelopes flying everywhere.

And of course, to add insult to injury, he'd recognised the chit's handwriting as soon as he saw it. He'd marked more of her work than any other student in memory. She'd been the only student to plague him with feet upon feet of extra information, regardless of the countless acerbic comments he'd left in the margins.

Falling back into his wingback chair, Severus growled down at the four letters before him. The chit had managed to make a fool of him again, with nothing more than ink and parchment. _You made a fool of yourself Severus._ Three of the letters bore the familiar neat print of the Granger girl, while the other was branded with the postmark of '_A Posse Ad Esse_.'

Severus examined the yellowing envelopes trying to determine which was the oldest and thus, the original letter. Then with a growl he remembered his wand once more.

"Aeon Revelio" he muttered in his sonorous voice as the letters emitted a faint glow. Severus picked up the brightest one before letting the other faint pulses fade away. His long thin fingers picked apart the envelope; it's seal crumbling instantly as flakes of Gryffindor red wax brushed his lap. Great merlin, there were three separate pages. Was the girl determined to plague him with essays until he finally perished?

_"Dear Professor Snape,_

_I am well aware that while reading this, you are undoubtedly preparing yourself to endure another slew of mindless apologies. Even after all this time, I still can't adequately express how sorry I am for my sub-par healing efforts and their irreversible effects._

_Therefore fear not on reading this to find any further renewal of those apologies that were so unwelcome all those months ago. I will even go so far as to subdue my Gryffindor nature and completely abandon any further words or gestures to the effect._

_I know that whether I am sorry or not, what is done is done, and you never did care for the opinions of an insufferable know-it-all anyway. But I believe, sir that I now have something to offer you that is worth more than both my opinion and apologies._

_After completing my NEWTS some months ago; with the highest scores in the last century in all but potions (I am sorry about that too sir, but some know-it-all from the class of '78 beat me), I'm currently engaged in an internship at St Mungos._

_While I may have overestimated the level of academic stimulation the position affords, I've taken great solace in my own personal research, and I've finally managed to produce an improved concentration of Dittany._

_Let me be entirely open and forthright about this development, and my reasoning in alerting you to its existence. The research holds no promise to those already sporting old scarring, and once again I am sorry, but I'm afraid it is of no medical use to you._

_No, the reason I am writing to you is to confess that this is, at least partially, your research._

_I know you are aware that Harry, in his sixth and last year of Hogwarts, obtained your old copy of Advanced Potion Making while completely oblivious to just who his silent accomplice in Slughorn's lessons was. After learning your identity however, Harry was content to leave your book in the room of Hidden things forevermore. The discovery of "The Half Blood Prince's" identity had quite the opposite effect on me; I'd never approved the use of your book, but before leaving Hogwarts that summer, I decided to reclaim it. In my defence, we were about to embark on what I believed to be a suicide mission and I was under the impression that should we get caught, a stolen textbook would be the least of my concerns._

_I'd like to thank you, even though I can imagine you glowering at the page at my gratitude; your book was an invaluable help whilst preparing for my NEWTs at the Burrow. It was almost like reading your own particular brand of constructive criticism in the margins once more._

_I'd also like to hope, (I say hope rather than believe) that this research could be used as a definitive gesture of my sincere apologies, and perhaps, if you don't find the thought of corresponding with a Gryffindor Ex-student too outlandish, a bridge in the formation of a new acquaintance._

_You'll find a copy of my research enclosed, as well as all the relative patent forms that require only your signature._

_I hope you won't think me too presumptuous to retain your potions text for the time being; I will however understand if you wish to have it returned and I will be only to readily oblige._

_Looking forward to hearing from you,_

_Hermione Granger."_

Severus had to re-read the letter twice before he took in a single word. It took the a final third reading before he could believe any of it. Drawing up his occulumency wards, he set the letter carefully aside and reached for the next.

_"Dear Professor Snape,_

_I am not sure whether to begin this letter as I did my last, or rather, to start afresh. If my last missive was in fact misdirected, than the former would do tolerably, however if you did receive my last letter and simply have not yet formed a reply than I would hate to bore you by repeating myself._

_I will endeavour to be brief._

_I initially wrote to you about a research project I recently finalised; I've managed to improve, through the distilment process, the concentration and effects of Dittany. Before you wonder about my motive in informing you, I should remark that this improvement is relative only on the first application. That is to say, it is of no use to you medically._

_My reason for contacting you is that the inspiration of my research came, almost entirely, from a comment in your old potion's textbook. I am sure you knew of Harry's appropriation of the book in our sixth and final year of Hogwarts; his sudden ascent to the top of potions was not exactly subtle. Harry disposed of your book shortly before learning the identity of 'The Halfblood Prince" and he never returned to claim it from the room of hidden things. That further theft, I'm afraid, was down to me. After learning that the book I had mistrusted for a year belonged to you, I retrieved it shortly before Hogwarts broke up for the summer. At the time, I had far greater things to worry about than a stolen textbook, as did you, I'm sure. I have to thank you once again for the book, which not only helped sustain my sanity whilst on the run, but also was an absolute blessing whilst preparing for my NEWTS this summer._

_I think my attempts at brevity are beginning to fail. To stick to the bare facts, I am currently in possession of your textbook, and enclosed in this envelope is a copy of my research, as well as patent papers that you need to sign. Seeing as it was your idea, I feel it is only right to half all proceedings from my work. I hope this in turn serves as some amendment for my unsatisfactory healing attempts, and for all the times we made your life harder by running foolhardy into danger._

_I hope you find my initial letter, which being far more in-depth does my sentiments greater justice._

_Awaiting your reply,_

_Hermione Granger"_

Attempts at brevity indeed. Severus' face was a blank mask as he set the second letter aside. He refused to be side-tracked; He would take all three letters in rationally. He had a feeling that should he stop now, he wouldn't get through them at all. He'd reach for the bottle of Odgen's and be lost to the world for a night. He resolutely broke the seal of the third, much slimmer envelope.

_"Dear Professor Snape_

_I am writing to inform you that I have in my possession your old Hogwarts copy of Advanced Potion Making. I have written to prior letters on the matter, and I encourage you to locate and read them. They contain the details of my current research, which has enhanced the consistency of Dittany. The research was inspired, or perhaps more precisely, originated, from a comment in the margin of your textbook._

_I must admit, I feel rather foolish at the tone I adopted in my last two letters; frequent interactions with your book's commentary over the past year, which is indeed quite personable, has lead me to confuse our past working relationship. If it was this that offended you in my previous correspondence, causing you to ignore contact and refrain from reply, than I forgive you. It is well know you are a solitary man and I apologise for intruding._

_Again, perhaps I am too hasty in my conclusions and apologies, but I find it far too circumscript that both of my letters went astray. Still, I have made duplicates of this letter, and have mailed them to your Hogsmeade slot, to you personally, and (again, forgive my Gryffindor brashness) have handed one to Professor McGonagall to pass to you._

_The reason I have gone to such lengths with this letter is because it is to be my last. I will concede that when I began my research, I was motivated by a need to make amends to you personally. Indeed, I hope it does achieve that end. I have always respected you and I truly am sorry for all my past actions concerning you._

_But in the last month whilst awaiting your reply, I've realised the true potential this work has; for me to delay its publication is akin to me delaying the treatment of individuals in far greater need. How many more scars can be laid on my slate? Perhaps my aims are selfish but my conscience has enough to deal with. I have registered the work and an article is to be published within the month._

_The patent department, like most of the ministry, is unsurprisingly incompetent. There are no identity checks, no anti-fraud or forgery charms placed on any of the paperwork. All it took was an approximation of your signature on the form. Luckily I had retained a multitude of old essays, each bearing your mark. I flatter myself that the forgery is believable._

_I know this won't in any way improve your opinion of me, and even I'm not entirely sure whether this can be considered ethically viable or not. But I couldn't bear the thought that any personal animosity you cherished towards me would prevent you from getting the accolades you deserve. Perhaps forgery was beneath me, but I feel better in the knowledge that, at least on this score, I can say you've been treated fairly. I know it probably doesn't make up for anything, but short of you announcing all of this to the patents office, it is done and nothing more needs to be said._

_I fear I have failed in my task of keeping this letter aloof and reserved. Please don't believe I am taking liberties or speaking out of disrespect. With this, I hope, my dues are paid and we can part once more with indifference. At least on your part, that will actually prove an improvement on our relationship._

_Wishing you the best,_

_Hermione Granger."_

Severus Snape was no stranger to remorse. He'd lived the last 20 years at its beck and call. 10 minutes ago he could have said, with clear conscience, that all other slights, all new mistakes were but a pebble on an over heavy pile; an addition to an ever-growing list.

It seemed Hermione Granger had started a brand new list. Like all her written works, it was of considerable length, and it seemed to Severus as though she had set upon his flesh with a blood quill. Every apology, every entreaty for forgiveness was another chapter carved out of his soul.

_She didn't steal from you, you idiot; she spent months upon months researching for you. _

Severus did his best to ignore the pointed voice; he closed his eyes and rested his head back on his chair, struggling to summon back the all-consuming rage that tormented him at the start of all this mess. He would take rage any day.

How he wished he were still angry with the chit. Angry with the know-it-all who had stolen from him without a second thought. Anger he could deal with. A Gryffindor taking advantage of his intellect he could deal with. Someone actually giving a shit what he thought, someone going out of their way to make amends, to spend months of time and effort on the likes of _him._That he didn't know how to deal with. He could count the number of people who'd gone to such lengths on one hand. He didn't need all the fingers either.

No, she must be doing it out of guilt. This was Granger. This was the girl who tried to singlehandedly free every house elf in Hogwarts. This has nothing to do with me.

_But I couldn't bear the thought that any personal animosity you cherished towards me would prevent you from getting the accolades you deserve._

God, the girl had even equated acting for the greater good, releasing the research, quite rightfully to help others, as a selfish indulgence. He was simply another hopeless cause, a charity case for the brains of the golden trio to fret over.

_People don't offer to befriend charity cases you miserable git._

Severus had to wonder when the voice had taken on Minerva's distinctive brogue.

…_if you don't find the thought of corresponding with a Gryffindor Ex-student too outlandish, a bridge in the formation of a new acquaintance._

Perhaps, there was the wild possibility the young woman would have welcomed a new acquaintance. Perhaps she had meant to initiate a correspondence. _Frequent interactions with your book's commentary over the past year, which is indeed quite personable… _Severus couldn't recall anyone ever describing him as personable. Most likely she would have appreciated the intellectual stimulation. A small part of him twinged at the idea of having someone other than Minerva and Narcissa care if he drowned himself at the bottom of a bottle. But he quickly shut the mutinous feeling down. Yes, he would have tolerated a correspondence.

But that was before.

Before he had burst into the burrow and sent her world crashing down around her. Before he'd flown to the wrong conclusions and twisted the knife in her side. Again, the image of the young witch, mature now in her lime green robes, sinking to the ground as he apparated away forced itself before his eyes. Severus summoned a new bottle of Odgens and put both Hermione's and the publisher's letters aside before they could plague him anymore.

_She's better off without the likes of you anyway._

* * *

_Note:_ Thanks for all your reviews, and to those of you who liked it enough to hit the follow/favourite button. My fic has recently been nominated for the HP Fanfic fan poll awards in the category of Best Drama-Angst Story, WIP. Can I just send a massive bolt of love and thanks to whoever took the time to nominate this fic, It's my first ever fic and it really does mean the world. To vote for, or nominate, your favourite fics, go to hpfanficfanpoll . livejournal . com (But without the spaces). :) 3


	17. Chapter 17 - Reparo

Disclaimer: la la la not JKR, la la la no profit, la la la does anyone actually read this part?

Notes: I love how torn the comments on my last chapter were! Some of you found Severus' reaction hilarious and some of you felt honestly bad for the guy. Loving such diverse reactions. Hope you enjoy this, please continue to review!

* * *

_Sorrow makes us all children again - destroys all differences of intellect. The wisest know nothing. _

_**Ralph Waldo Emerson**_

* * *

"Reparo".

The scattered ashes refused to move.

"R-Reparo!"

The tiny fragments defied the distraught witch's efforts just as they might a light breeze. The table sat uncaring, and the stillness of the room bore down on the young girl, mocking her efforts

"Reparo!"

Hermione was all too aware of the tears tracking their way across her pale cheeks and the hoarse tremor of her voice as she cried the basic spell over and over again. She felt like an eleven year old once more. The night she'd received her letter from Professor McGonagall, stolen away into her room and sat brandishing a stick over her favourite sunhat, waiting for a rabbit to appear. Just a little girl, waving around a stick and believing utter foolishness once more.

And foolish though it was, Hermione refused to believe the sodden black fragments were impervious to magic.

No. She had fixed worse than this; she'd pieced plates and bowls back together, she'd set Harry's glasses to rights at least a hundred times. She'd personally seen a wand beyond all means of help defy the impossible and succumb to the simple spell. Admittedly, she didn't own the elder wand, but Hermione refused to believe the concept was any different.

This had to work.

She just wasn't trying hard enough.

She was not going to let her parents down.

"_**Reparo!" **_She forcefully screeched, using both hands to impulsively thrust the magic along. The force of the spell caused an actual whooshing sensation to spread throughout the room. The tiniest of cracks in the window righted themselves while the left hand corner of Percy's bed emitted a groan as the dodgy spring shot back into place.

The tiny fragments still seemed to struggle against the tremendous wave of magic, but even they eventually lost their charred black coats and drifted once more into a haphazard pile of parchment.

Hermione could physically feel the drain on her magical energy, as though she had tapped some secret reserve and let the very core of her being run dry.

But it was worth it.

Even as an overwhelming sob wracked through her body, even as she collapsed boneless, into the no longer creaky chair, Hermione felt as though for once, for one small, small moment, the great weight of everything had been lifted from her shoulders.

Everything: The Ministry, St Mungo's, Ron, Mrs Weasley. Everything seemed lighter. Everything was okay.

_I can finally get my parents back_.

Brushing the tears out of her eyes with a breath of laughter, Hermione leaned forward to order her newly won notes. Only to find they were blank.

Completely and utterly blank.

Hermione felt nothing but the beat of her pulse in her fingers as she traced the smooth blank parchment.

"No."

"No. Reparo. Reparo. Reparo!"

The papers didn't so much as flutter.

"No."

* * *

George couldn't take the hospital any longer. He didn't know whether it was the smell or the lighting or the monotony of the waiting room, but death had coated the walls.

Even as he walked hurriedly through the bustling muggle street to the apparition point, the sensation seemed to linger, crawling over his skin, creeping it's way under his eyelids, burrowing into his brain.

His hands were still clammy from the sight that had greeted him that morning. Ron, his baby brother, lying still and nearly life-less beneath the hospital sheets. He felt as though he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.

He knew that rationally the hospital itself shouldn't bother him. It hadn't in his sixth year when Dad had been brought after Naigini's attack. He knew the healer's had explained that Ron's injuries weren't life threatening in the least. He knew Fred would've taken the mickey.

_Whatcha' fraid of Georgie? Reckon they'll commit you at last? Get you a nice bed next to Lockheart if you're lucky mate. _

Then again, if Fred had been around to take the mickey, the stench of death wouldn't have lingered so. Ron lying in a hospital bed would've been bloody hilarious. He'd have offered him a sponge bath. Shouted him a playwizard then pointed out just which arm he'd incapacitated - away from mum of course.

But Fred wasn't around and George wasn't by his little brother's bedside cracking jokes. He was running with his tail between his legs from invisible voices and the prickling of Goosebumps.

He was worse than bloody Trelawny.

Shaking his head, George reached the apparition point and rolled into the spinning darkness before stepping out on the lawns of The Burrow. With his hands in his pockets and his head hunched over he was impervious to the great white clouds rolling in over the fields of long grass. Shouldering the door open George faced the familiar surroundings, for once stripped of his usual fake grin. There was no one to reassure. The empty kitchen took no notice of his heavy eyes or worn face; it didn't note his silent traipse up the stairs. It still felt odd, being left alone, but he supposed he'd get used to it. Not like he had much choice.

It was only as he plodded along the second story landing that he realised he wasn't in fact alone.

"R-reparo, rep-aro, reparo!"

Quietly pushing Percy's door open, George came face to face with a sobbing Hermione Granger.

* * *

Hermione didn't quite know when she'd sunk to the floor, spreading the infuriatingly blank pages in front of her. She wasn't quite sure how long she'd been curled up with the cold metal bedframe pressed into her spine. Some part of her knew, by the light pouring in the through the patterns of the lace curtains, that it was probably around three o'clock. That she should have been long gone by now. That she should have at least packed by now. Or made a list of all the books she'd need to take, or all the details of her research she remembered. But Hermione couldn't stop the shaky sobs still breaking through her stupor. She knew the incantation was pointless and her pronunciation was utterly flawed and that she'd probably squandered her magical reserves long ago.

But there was a stubborn, bushy haired eleven-year-old deep within her, stood in front of a hat with a stick that refused to give up. What was the point of magic if it couldn't fix things? What was the point of all the fighting and pain and anguish to be a witch? What was the point of sacrificing her parents, to belong to the magical world?

No. She was not giving up.

"R-reparo, rep-aro, reparo!"

At this stage, Hermione wasn't even waving her wand properly.

"What in Merlin's bloody name are you doing, you _lunatic."_

Hermione looked up startled at the stocky red-haired wizard stood in front of her, his mouth open and his face a picture of complete confusion.

_What the hell _are _you doing Hermione?_

"I… I was trying to fix my notes… I…" She stuttered, still shocked at Ron's elder brother's tone.

"Reparo's not going to fix that." He stated somewhat stupidly, still gaping down.

"Yes, well I know that!" Hermione cried from the floor, irritated by this statement of the obvious.

_Well you have been here for an hour, idiot._

"Why are you still doing it then."

Hermione all but seethed with rage.

"It may have escaped your attention, but ALL my work, everything I'd figured out on how to help my parents, to restore their memories and get my family back, is now DESTROYED." She fumed, rising from the floor and turning to face the errant redhead.

George still gawked at her, obviously dumbfounded.

"Well, didn't you have copies?"

_Is George Weasley actually lecturing me on coherent note-taking systems and organisational practices?_

"Actually, believe it or not, I wasn't expecting my notes to face the perils of incineration. Silly me, not to have considered that factor at the beginning of my research."

George finally wiped the confused look of his face, if only to replace it with a grimace.

"Fair enough." He offered, somewhat apologetically, perhaps regretting his thoughtless tone.

Hermione deflated slightly as her ire died away. Both she and George stood staring down at the blank pages of parchment spread between them.

"Although…" George began hesitantly. "That is something Fred and I took into consideration. Pretty much all our early production notes went up in smoke trying to make an everlasting firework… and well."

He stopped here, noting Hermione's entirely unimpressed expression.

"Memory reversal isn't quite so volatile" she quipped faintly.

"Yes, well, no, of course not. Still, come on, I've got something that'll cheer our little know-it-all right up." He beamed at her, clearly undaunted by her emotional state.

Hermione followed George out of the room, leaving the still blank parchment littering the floor. It was no use to her now anyway. George was right. Nothing would ever set that right. Walking down the stairs, Hermione wiped the wet residue from around her eyes and set her jaw. She was done crying. She would simply have to start over again. Logically there was no reason she couldn't reach the exact same solutions, if anything she could probably complete it in half the original time. There was so much else to worry about.

George jumped the last three steps to land in the middle of the kitchen, before ambling to the door and holding it open to her.

"Come on, come on, get a move on Granger. I'm a busy man you know, I'm not wasting hours for your lack of organisational foresight."

Hermione was going to hit him.

He only grinned at the glare she shot him, before turning around once more and leading her through the backyard and around the chicken pens into Mr Weasley's shed.

While the seemingly innocuous shed was magically expanded on the inside, it was still incredibly cramped and every available surface seemed overflowing with the most bizarre collection of muggle artefacts imaginable. Spark plugs sat littered among what looked like a semi-dissembled washing machine. Along the left wall, two slightly rusted kitchen sinks sat upon a heavily dented, upturned go-kart. George navigated through the clutter with practiced ease, hoisting himself up onto a counter and pulling what looked like a box of muggle magic tricks from the upper shelf. Hermione picked her way across the narrow pathways, careful not to upturn the piles of model aeroplane boxes or send loose Lego sets flying everywhere.

With his legs swinging listlessly over the side of the bench, George lightly blew the dust of a black and red box, roughly the size of a shoebox, that read '101 Unbelievable Majicks! Impress your friends, enthral your enemies!' It looked like the kind of cheap gimmick you'd find in a dilapidated toyshop. As Hermione crowded over, George pulled the lid off to reveal a stack of neat ordered papers.

Hermione was dumbstruck.

_Who is this and what has he done with George Weasley._

"You've got to be joking." Hermione levelled out. Even the small print on the parchment was perfect, each line was exactly horizontal and the margins were straight to the very last millimetre.

_Maybe I really am magically drained. What if I'm passed out upstairs?_

"I'm offended! What ever lead you to believe I was anything other than anal and diligent my dear sister?" George proclaimed in a mock-offended tone.

"So help me George, I have had a long day. Explain. Now."

George only laughed, reaching into the box and rustling through the sheaves of paper.

"Hang on, it's in here somewhere…"

Hermione stood silent, arms crossed while George searched through the box, still muttering to himself.

"Oh wait… no it's not… must be the other one then." He frowned.

"The other what?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Haaang on." He waved her off, reaching up to the top shelf again, this time pulling down, to Hermione's utter bemusement, a dusty scrabble box.

_What the actual hell? _

"Ahh, yep here we go. Didn't want mum getting her hands on it and having kittens." He grinned at her once more. Lifting the lid once more, George pulled from the box not a scrabble board as she had somewhat expected, but a plain black binder.

Flipping it open, he flicked through the pages before loudly exclaiming.

"Ah Ha! Got ya. There you go Hermione, feel better?" He asked her, handing the binder over.

Hermione skimmed through the pages, not quite sure what she was meant to be looking for. This was not George's handwriting at all, it almost resembled typed text, but it was obviously written out in ink. Flipping the page back to where George had had it open, Hermione let out a gasp.

This was all of George's research on the development of memories in the Excito Animatum solution. Down to the very last sentence. Actually, it was all of George's research on every single Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' product, but Hermione couldn't give a damn about extendible ears or undetectable Antidiarrheals. With this at least, some portion of her working formula wasn't forever lost.

"But your notes, they were so messy and disorganised. Bits were written on napkins and old WWW fliers. Are you actually telling me you write out duplicates of every bit of brainstorming on every bit of research?" Hermione couldn't help but consider how illogical this was. He'd end up spending more time note taking than inventing.

"In a way." George laughed, obviously enjoying her ignorance. "I'm guessing Hermione, you never explored much in the way of cheating quills?"

"I most certainly did not!" Hermione automatically piped.

"Thought not. Well most of them are rubbish see. Either they're completely useless or the exam spells manage to catch them out. Fred and I were looking into them right before our O.W.L's…" George trailed off here at an affronted look from Hermione.

"No, no, no; not to cheat or anything. Well, yes to cheat, but not so we'd do well. We never gave a stuff about the marks or anything. It just would've been the best test environment for 'em."

Hermione's affronted look didn't change at all.

"They were a bit of a flop actually. But we did come up with this; oh shit hang on where'd I put it."

George hopped off the counter, rustling around in what looked like an empty, tipped over mailbox.

"Ah. Here."

George handed Hermione what looked like a perfectly ordinary brown quill. She looked at him pointedly, waiting for him to explain.

"Oh, uhm. One more second." Patting around the desk, George produced a scrap of an old daily prophet. "Here you go. Give it a try."

Looked down at the pen, bemused, but humoured the redhead nonetheless.

_George Weasley is a colossal arse, who could have explained this without dragging me into the back shed and keeping me in suspense._

"Tsk, that's not very nice at all, Hermione." George intoned, adopting his pseudo affronted tone once more. Hermione only raised an eyebrow at him, still waiting for him to explain.

"Now open the folder."

Hermione did as she was told, flipping to the last page of the folder and starting at the words that were slowly appearing, as though written by an invisible hand.

_George Weasley is a colossal arse, who could have explained this without dragging me into the back shed and keeping me in suspense._

"That's brilliant!" She cried, examining the innocuous quill once more.

"The idea was that Fred or I could take turns writing notes, while the other worked on joke-shop stuff, but then we'd both have copies when a teacher asked."

Hermione's smile dimmed a little and her eyebrow's creased at this piece of information. George carried on unflinchingly.

"Then after the fireworks incident we set all of this up. We both kept a quill on us at all times so that no matter where we were or what we ended up scribbling on, everything was safe and sound in the shed. Plus dad fire-proofed this shed when we were like 7."

"Do I want to ask why?"

"Just don't talk to mum about the vacuum cleaner incident. Ever."

Hermione would have laughed had she not vividly remembered her last conversation with Mrs Weasley.

"Can I take these notes George? And a copy of the quill spell might come in handy too."

"Sure thing sis." He said, before looking down at the quill still in her hands. His face paled and smile faltered. "In fact. Take that one. It's not doing any good here."

"No, George I couldn't, as we've said your notes are at a far greater risk than mine would be."

"It's not mine. My quill's upstairs." He mumbled, shuffling the papers back into their box and fixing on the lid once more.

_Oh._

"Besides" He continued, placing the red box up on the shelf once more, "Fred would've gotten a huge kick out of it; Perfect prefect Hermione Granger using his cheating quill. Who'd have thought?"

* * *

As Hermione and George entered the burrow once more, it was no longer an empty kitchen that greeted them. Both Mr Weasley and Kingsley were seated at the kitchen table, cradling cups of tea.

"There you are Hermione, we were just about to check Grimauld Place for you."

"I'm sorry Mr Weasley, I just got side-tracked. I'll go finish packing now."

"What?" Arthur looked across the room at her, thoroughly befuddled. "No, no, don't worry about any of that now, Kingsley and I've got off work early. We were going to go through your plans."

_Plans?_

Kingsley apparently noted her perplexity.

"Plans for you to go into hiding Hermione. We only have four days."

Hermione cottoned on at last.

_Of course._

* * *

_Note: _I know a lot of you are averse to an over-weepy Hermione, I myself hate seeing her fall to pieces as the victim. But I think after having all her research torn away, a bit of a cry is the best thing for her. Don't worry though, she'll find her feet soon enough. Hope you liked it, please leave a review, I love hearing what you guys think.


	18. Chapter 18 - The best laid plans

Disclaimer: If i was JKR I wouldn't feel so horribly guilty for making you wait four days for an update. I could take years and you'd all still love me.

Note: This chapter is bittersweet: It is one of my longer ones, but you did have to wait a bit longer. I fear the next one will follow the same pattern, but I am doing my best. Thank you all so much for your reviews, it's amazing to know people are still finding this and enjoying it.

* * *

_A ship in harbor is safe - but that is not what ships are for._

**John A. Shedd, Salt from My Attic**

* * *

They'd ended up relocating to Grimauld place. Perhaps Mr Weasley simply accepted it was the most neutral territory, or perhaps he truly did fear his wife's ire. Either way, Hermione couldn't help but feel relieved. She'd packed her things in record time, and while she was magically deprived from earlier, she'd still managed to get all her clothes, and more importantly all her books, into her small, resilient beaded bag in less than ten minutes.

Harry and Ginny had obviously just got back from the hospital when their party stepped through the floo. Ginny was putting the kettle on and Harry hanging up his coat.

"Woah. We must have been minutes apart. Kingsley, Arthur, George, come on in. What are you all doing here." Harry fired off in rapid response to the line of people traipsing through his kitchen.

"Dad, George, what's happened? Is Ron okay?" Ginny fretted, putting the kettle on the stove and hurrying over.

"No, no, nothing like that. We're all just here to talk the marriage law over with Hermione. Your brother's fine."

"Tactic's talk huh?" Ginny grinned, causing Hermione to contemplate how much of an asset the girl would've been while huddled around this very same kitchen table exactly a year and a half ago. "So this is going to take a while then?" She asked, turning to Hermione, errant smirk still in place.

"I'd imagine so." Hermione sighed, shrugging off her coat and scarf as Mr Weasley took a seat.

"Great. I'll go grab us some re-enforcements. Gotta keep Team Granger well supplied."

Hermione only groaned at the colloquialism, fervently hoping it wouldn't stick. From the way George was chuckling behind her, she knew it was far too much to hope. Ginny nimbly stole a kiss from Harry before winding her way around the kitchen to the front hall. Hermione followed the young witch, heading to hang her coat.

"You okay Hermione?" Ginny stopped to ask, standing at the doorway with her hand resting on the handle. Hermione was touched by the witches concern, especially considering she'd just inadvertently put her brother in hospital.

_Yep, heap him onto your consciences too, that's really healthy Hermione. It was obviously all your fault. You bloody narcissist. _

"I'm fine Ginny. I hope it's okay if I stay here for a while- your mum, well; That is to say, it's probably best for everyone."

"When are you going to stop bloody apologising and understand that you'll always be welcome here? God, you're nearly as bad as Harry sometimes. I thought you were meant to be the smart one? We're always going to be your family, got it?"

Hermione could only manage a nod and a smile before the young witch was off with a swoop. Hanging her coat up, Hermione made to re-enter the kitchen when a worried looking Harry stopped her.

"Hey. How're you doing."

"Oh not you too. I'm fine Harry. I'm good. Ginny's given me the prep talk already."

Her best friend only grinned sheepishly at her, possibly at being caught out acting on Ginny's orders.

"It feels sort of like before doesn't it?" Harry asked quietly, his gaze once more upon the kitchen. Hermione didn't have to ask what he meant. She understood. Kingsly, Mr Weasley, talks of tactics and strategy. All around the table at Grimauld Place no less. The whole thing had the vibe of an Order meeting about it. It did feel eerie, as though they were at war once more. Hermione felt another bolt of guilt for putting Harry through this all over again. He and Ginny had worked so hard to rob the gaudy house of its Order associations.

"I know what you mean." She quietly agreed, eying Harry worriedly.

"It's not like before though. Everyone's safe this time." She hurried to assure him.

Harry only turned to eye her bemusedly.

"I hope the Ministry are prepared, because _they're_ not going to be safe when you're through with them Hermione."

Hermione summoned a weak smile for the confidence she didn't actually feel.

"Come on let's get started."

Both she and Harry entered the Kitchen and took a seat while George served up tea to Kingsly and Arthur.

"Right. So Hermione, before we begin, we wanted to know who the two ministry wizards you saw at St Mungo's were."

"I didn't recognise them. I didn't catch names or anything." She frowned, thinking back to the glum wizards who had stood impassively by the doors for the entire day. "One was short, and sort of, roundish. The other was tall and seemed a lot older." Hermione drifted off, trying to recall any further details but failing.

"So you didn't see a blondish man, average height, sort of tanned?" Kingsly asked, concerned.

"No." Hermione honestly answered. "Why who's he?"

Kingsly and Arthur exchanged a look, but refrained from comment.

"Let's not worry about him now. We've got more than enough to be getting along with. 4 days gives us very little breathing room." Arthur changed the topic, aiming at a genial tone.

"We have 34 days, though, don't we? Before I'm actually breaking the law."

"No. Anyone else, yes, they'd have 34 days to make a move. Admittedly the longer they left it, the harder it would be, but it would still be feasible. You? No. I don't think you understand." Kingsly's voice was deep and melodic, but it no longer seemed as calm as Hermione remembered.

"You're Hermione Granger; you're the archetype for why the magical community needs an infusement of new blood. We've got four days, at the very most, to get you out of the country."

Hermione started at his words, utterly bewildered.

"What? But what use am I going to be abroad?" She was well aware her voice had become shrill and over pitched. Both Harry and George grimaced at the tone, correctly recognising it as a warning sign.

"Use?" Arthur questioned, puzzled by her vehement reaction." You've not got much choice Hermione, you going abroad is the only way to avoid the law. They'll be able to track you magical signature while you're on British soil, otherwise. Unless you were willing to live as a muggle?" He reasoned, struggling to understand her outburst.

Hermione seethed, not placated in the least.

"But how am I supposed to fight the law from overseas, or without my magic?"

The room finally grasped what she was saying.

"Hermione, what do you mean, fight the law?" Arthur hesitantly asked the riled up witch.

"Well, to have it appealed of course!"

Hermione couldn't quite understand the group's shock. _Of course we need to fight this law? Were they just going to let it happen?_

"How could you think I'd just flee the country?" she found herself asking angrily. "How could I be happy, knowing the atrocity of freedoms taking place in my home? Of course I want to repeal the law."

"Hermione, I don't think you understand just how difficult that would be." Kingsly levelled in an infuriatingly calm voice.

"Can everyone please stop telling me that I don't _quite understand._ Section 13, paragraph 7 of the Wizarding Legal Chronicles dictates that any law can be subject to repeal, should a wizard prove to the Wizengamot, beyond reasonable doubt, that the law in question does more harm than good to the majority of wizard kind. In 1846 an amendment to the chronicle altered the paragraph to replace the term _wizard_ with magical individual and _wizard kind_ with magical community."

"You know, Scrimagour might've been right after all." Harry muttered.

"Okay, yes Hermione, those are the technicalities but you have to take into consideration the way the ministry operates. Even _if_, and it's a pretty big if, you can prove this law does more harm than good, you need two thirds of the Wizengamot to agree. Dawlish, or more appropriately Theodore Burges and his cronies, they're the ones who've introduced this law; they're the ones who sign the paychecks. Not to mention the greasing of palms besides. I'm sorry to say, but it's going to take a lot more than proof to win these people over."

Hermione didn't know if it was the older wizards intention, but she couldn't help but feel suitably chastened. _Well of course it wasn't going to be easy._

_Then again, when has anything in the magical world been easy for you so far Granger? And more importantly when has that ever stopped you?_

"What would it take then?"

Kingsly looked at her considerably, nodding his head slowly as though she had passed some unspoken test.

"Massive amounts of public support." He finally stated, staring her straight in the eyes. "You'd need to convince every man, woman and child that this law is harming them; more than that, you need to supply a better option."

"Okay, okay, so. Public opinion, harmfulness of the law, another option. Hang on. I need to write this down, make a list."

Harry smiled fondly at her atypical behaviour as Hermione fluttered around for a bit of paper. Transfiguring a spare bit of Honydukes junk mail into a fresh sheath of parchment, Hermione absently pulled a quill from her pocket, before looking down and realising it was Fred's dull brown one.

"Oh, George, will it make a difference if I just use this?" she asked, holding up the seemingly innocent implement.

"Yeah nah, it should be fine, won't erase aught or nothing." He shrugged.

_At least the list would survive any unexpected incinerations._

Just as Hermione pulled the piece of paper in front of her, the front door crashed open and a wind beaten Ginny entered the room, foisting bags of delicious smelling Chinese food onto the table. There was a flurry throughout the room as Harry jumped up to get plates and cutlery while George all but leapt across the table, rustling through the bags in wonder at the different dishes while just generally causing unnecessary havoc.

"Ginny, your mother will go spare if she finds out I've been eating this lot" Arthur complained, eyeing off a serving of chow mien.

"Don't have any then." The red head cheekily remarked, serving out fried rice onto everyone's dishes.

Arthur only grumbled before reaching for the dim-Sims.

"Okay so." Hermione started, once she had relented and accepted a helping off Ginny. "More harm than good, that's all we need to prove."

The room was filled with the sound of the quill scratching along the surface of the paper as she wrote, punctuated by the quiet background of rustling plastic and people eating. Not quite the chorus of answer's she'd been expected. Humming quietly under her breath, she decided to try again.

"So let's start with the harm, that's relatively easy."

Even Kingsly barely looked up at her, his attention consumed with the sweet and sour pork sitting in front of him.

"Harm to everyone Hermione, not just muggleborns." Ginny supplied while passing a dish of wontons around the table.

Hermione sighed down at the empty list, before attacking her own bowl. This was going to take a while.

* * *

Two hours later, and the conversation around the table was far more forthcoming and a great deal louder.

"Look, I'm telling you Dad, public opinion is going to be the least of our worries." George argued across the table from beside Ginny, who was nodding emphatically.

"There's a different between public awareness and public opinion George! This isn't a new joke shop product! We need people to be agreeing with us, not just gossiping about it!" Arthur debated.

Hermione couldn't help but agree with the Weasley patriarch. Looking down at her list, Hermione weighed up the factors once more:

_More **harm** than good- Majority of magical population_

_- Use of anti-contraceptive potions (Caligula): Publish paper on dangers of consumption_

_- Magical economy can't sustain long term benefits Bill? _

_- Precedent laws pure bloods? _

_- HUMAN RIGHTS!_

_- Women's jobs. **Carers **jobs_

_Uselessness- **More **harm than **good.**_

_- No proof law will expand population – squib birth rates?_

_- Previous devestation of magical community: Dragon pox, Grindlewald, Riddle's interlude. Statistical comparison. {Hogwarts register?}_

_- DNA research – Stroulger?__ {Last resort.} {Switzerland}_

_Publicity (Eugh)_

_- Golden bloody trio nonsense_

_- Skeeter Ministry deal? Kingsly_

_- WWW Orbs, Joke products, radio?_

_- Holyhead Harpies? – Ginny_

_- Luna_

Public opinion really would be the tricky part. Well apart from the DNA research that Kingsly was dead against. Still, Hermione could handle the research. She was more than confident that she could track down all the necessary documents to support her case. Even undercover, she was lucky enough to have people in a position to help her. She had eyes and ears in the ministry, in St Mungo's, the Prophet and, hopefully with a well penned letter to Professor McGonagol, Hogwarts.

So long as she had access to the raw data and information, Hermione was certain she could organise a logical, well-reasoned case.

Unfortunately, as seven years in the magical world had taught her, the average witch or wizard's grasp of logic was tenuous at best. What if her task really was to convince a mass of Mrs Weasley duplicates? Or anti-mudblood apologists? How could she convince them?

Hermione had never been good at getting people to like her. She didn't have Harry's fame, or George's affability, or Ginny's confidence.

_You're going into hiding, it's not like you'll have to personally convince legions of sceptics. Just focus on the research. You can do this. _

Around her the table's discussion went on, impervious to Hermione's absent thoughts.

"It's all about the impression we make: Hermione can't be painted as a fugitive of the law, she has to be a martyr, a hero sticking up for the people." Kingsly punctuated this statement with emphatic hand gestures, meeting the table soundly.

"But I'm not. I'm not sacrificing anything." Hermione's voice was small but it quelled the rabble around the table like any of Molly's shouts.

"As long as they believe you are, it won't matter." Kingsly answered after a pause.

"But why would they believe that?" Hermione stubbornly continued. "I'd just be another mudblood trying to avoid a doomed marriage." Her tone finally pervaded the table, seeping doubt into both Kingsly's and Arthur's expressions.

"Unless…" Ginny mused, still idly brandishing a fork in the air. "Unless you're not running from a loveless marriage; you're sacrificing your dream wedding to fellow golden trio war hero."

Hermione wondered if anyone else found the air of the small room so suddenly charged. An uneasy lull swept across the table as the young witche's proposal was considered. _Would Ron really pretend they were still romantically involved? That she hadn't spurned him, that they hadn't concluded their relationship?i_

Kingsly was the first to break the lull, turning to Mr Weasley with an intense look upon his face.

"Would Ronald work with it?"

Arthur looked from Kingsly to Hermione; locking eyes with his would be daughter-in-law. Hermione sat impassive as she watched the cogs turn in the older man's head.

"It's asking a lot, I don't, that is to say, I'd have to talk to him." He spoke deliberately, weighing up every word. Hermione could appreciate his politic recalcitrance. Ron was his son after all.

"I'm sure I could convince him." George spoke up, his voice so unusually devoid of humour. For once it seemed, there was no trace of a joke. He didn't look up from the table, leaning back with his arms crossed. Hermione didn't quite understand what she'd done to acquire such an ally.

"I don't want him bullied into anything" she found herself qualifying. "I really have no right to ask anything of him."

George didn't say a word and it was Kingsly who answered, nodding as he spoke.

"Obviously, but if he were to co-operate, that would give us our best chances. See what you can do Arthur."

Mr Weasley nodded seriously. Hermione pursued the list again, searching for anything they'd missed.

_Oh of course. You idiot._

"Where will I go into hiding?" she asked baldly, to the room at large. The question left a rank taste in her mouth, just as the thought made her cringe. Just because she knew fleeing was the most sensible solution, didn't make it any easier to stomach.

"Hogwarts?" Harry suggested hopefully. Hermione nearly sighed aloud at the suggestion. It was one she'd been expecting from her friend. Harry's faith in Hogwarts as the last line of defence, as the impenetrable strong hold had never quite abandoned him.

"In a school with hundreds of students, where nothing is kept secret and anything that's hidden always eventually comes to light? " She asked exasperatedly.

"We'll have to borrow Fluffy." George quipped.

Harry cringed silently. It was a mark of how much he'd matured that he didn't sulk at having his idea mercilessly shot down.

"Andromeda might have you." Ginny mused, only to be shot down by Kingsly.

"It can't be anywhere that can be easily traced back to any of us. It's a well-known fact that you and Harry are partly responsible for Teddy. Anyone associated with the Order, or the Weasley family in general, have to be ruled out."

Hermione mulled the problem over, weighing up her possibilities.

"So if I were to live as a muggle, they couldn't find me?" She asked. Arthur nodded at her.

"So long as you don't use your wand, there's no way they can legally trace you."

"But Hermione, it would be dangerous. Consider the remaining death eaters and snatchers still at large. You would be a target, and you need your magic for protection."

"But if they don't know where to find me, what are the odds I'll run into them?" she pointed out. "It's not like I'll be running to knockturn alley every afternoon." Kingsly nodded at this, conceding the point.

"Abroad would still be the easiest option." Kingsly mused. "But if you really don't want to leave the country, I'll scout out some suitable area's. Check which sectors the Auror Office considers clean. Once we take certain precautions, I suppose hiding out in the muggle world is feasible."

Hermione nodded, resolutely determined. She set her jaw and did her damndest to look convinced that this would work. That she was doing the right thing. That none of this was impossible. If her expression mirrored any of those starring back at her, then everyone was witness to her pretence.

Ginny yawned loudly, and began clearing away the empty Chinese containers, while Arthur checked his watch.

"Fancy coming back with me for a night cap Kingsly?" Mr Weasley tiredly offered.

"Sorry Arthur, I'm going to pop back into work. I want to know how McJustins' getting along with the Harper case. Harry, Ginny, thank you for dinner. Hermione; It's a good plan. If anyone could pull this off, it would be you." Kingsly paused here, as if considering something.

"You know Granger. After this mess is sorted, you really ought to consider a career in magical law. I think you're just what this ministry needs." He looked at her appraisingly.

Hermione swallowed down her retort about working for the very same people who seemed determine to have her locked away, and smiled graciously.

"I'll see how I handle St Mungo's tomorrow." She replied dryly.

"Ahh. Just do your best to act naturally. We know they'll be watching you. You have to act ignorant."

Hermione nodded, hiding her doubts. After all, she did have a weakness keeping her mouth shut when she knew something. She was, and always would be, an insufferable know it all.

* * *

Note: There you have it, Team Granger, assemble! Hope you enjoyed, please review!


	19. Chapter 19 - Discoveries

Disclaimer: I am not JKR. If I was I would have a lot more dedication to my work.

* * *

Notes: The title of this chapter was very nearly a thousand apologies; I couldn't possibly apologise enough for the huge delay in posting. To say life got in the way just feels like a feeble excuse, so I won't sport as such with your intelligence. Only know I'll try my best from here on in to update at least once a week. This fic is not abandoned, this particular chapter simply refused to come together. I hope it's long enough to make up for the wait, and I hope, most fervently, that there are at least some of you still willing to read it. Thank you all for your comments and reviews of the last chapter, it still does mean the world to me. Also: You all have Tara to thank for giving me the swift kick up the arse that made me continue as I have.

* * *

_A man's errors are his portals of discovery._

**James Joyce**

* * *

Severus had lost his touch.

He'd barged into the patents office, flinging the door open as he stormed in, robes flaring dramatically behind him. It was an entrance he'd perfected over the years. Or so he thought. The short portly man had looked up from his carefully ordered desk, and without batting an eye sent him a tight smile.

"With you in a minute sir, if you could kindly take a number?"

The office was completely empty but for Severus and the older, plumper wizard. A row of four standard, stiff waiting room chairs were lined against the far wall, facing the small but diligently organised office.

Severus didn't move from the doorway. He had glared. He had glowered. He had frowned.

The man never looked up from his carefully stacked forms. The only sound in the room was the click of a clock on the wall and a flutter as a small cut of parchment floated up from the desk, neatly pressing itself against Severus's chest. Picking the errant paper off his robes, he looked down to see the number 394 clearly typed.

Severus looked up at the odd man at the desk once more, entirely speechless.

_Does this moron have any idea who I am?_

Today had been Severus' first public foray into the magical world since the defeat of the dark lord. He had once again adopted his teaching robes that morning, fiercely occluding his mind and adopting the fearsome Professor Snape persona to make this day more bearable. As he had long ago learnt, people who feared you did not bother you.

Naturally, it had worked. Stepping out of a fireplace in the Ministry's Atrium had almost been comical. His long paces, stern expression and billowing robes did what four-armed security trolls would have never achieved. The crowd actually parted. The room was awash with the hiss of barely concealed whispers. Severus couldn't give a damn. So long as they were kept in a state of shock, too overcome with surprise to react, or form a lynch mob, then Severus was happy. Even the clerk at the security desk was too busy starring, mouth completely agape, to even contemplate his role. Severus merely took a badge from the desk, sliding into his robe pockets disdainfully before walking off, wand in tow. There was no way Severus was forfeiting his wand to anyone.

He'd timed the event perfectly. As the death trap they called an elevator rocketed away, the pandemonium was only just abandoning the pretence of whispering. He only wondered how long it would take before a mob of journalists had assembled in the atrium waiting for him. Severus had considered the use of Polyjuice, in his initial hung-over state, but in the end it was not the tedious waste of time and ingredients, but the notion of using Potter's hair-brained infiltration scheme that deterred him. He would survive the press. Worst-case scenario he'd make tomorrow's paper. Best-case; He got attacked and would have the chance to show the Wizarding world that his powers were just as formidable as always.

Then again, the injustice waiting for this moron could be considered provocation enough.

_So keen to get some more blood on your sleeves? Is your soul not coated enough, bastard?_

Just the thought of slinging another curse subdued Severus' irritation. He gazed down at the chubby bureaucrat once more. It was an odd feeling, to be treated as any other citizen after all this time. To be in the same room with another and not have any attention directed towards you. To be number 394 rather than a double-crossing ex-death eater traitor spy-cum-war hero and Order of Merlin first class.

Severus took a seat, eyebrow wryly raised as he examined the wizard now bent judiciously over the form in front of him. Head lowered as it was, the wizards dark shoulder length grey hair almost reached the table-top. The man's suit was impeccably pressed and only served to match the room's extreme fastidiousness.

"Right then!" the man finally exclaimed. The bastard then made a point of checking the list of numbers in front of him before turning to the all but empty room.

"Number 394 then?" The wizard's smile didn't falter a bit on examining the unimpressed scowl of Severus Snape. Either the man had never heard of him, or he had failed to recognise him entirely.

"And how are you today sir? Step over here if you would, yes thank you, do take a seat." He gestured unnecessarily at the empty leather chair facing the desk.

"I'm Wilfred Finkle, chief patents officer. How can the ministry help you today?"

* * *

Hermione had spent the entire morning primping. It most assuredly wasn't part of her everyday routine. Generally, she spared no thought for the clothes worn under her lime green robes. Logically she knew today should be the same, that she should endeavour to keep things as normal as possible. But still she couldn't quite help but check in the mirror. Fixing her collar. Scrutinising her expression, the tiny details of her robes. As if the whole ruse could be seen clearly on her face.

Again, she knew logically that it couldn't. That St Mungo's staff and the ministry wizards could have no idea that she knew what she knew. She told herself again and again that she was just another employee that had taken a personal day. She reasoned that most of the staff would have heard by now of her distraught appearance on level four after Ron had been checked in. Harry and Ginny had assured her last night that playing up Ron's injury was the best cover she could get.

All Hermione had to do was walk into work and keep her mouth shut. Looking critically at the worried face staring back at her from the mirror, Hermione felt the faintest vestiges of doubt. What if she couldn't act any better as an ignorant Hermione granger than she had a belligerent Bellatrix Lestrange?

Hermione firmly shook her head. She was overcomplicating the issue at hand. No one was asking her to rob a bank.

* * *

George had only put the advert up five bloody minutes ago.

CASUAL VACANCY: Enquire within.

The line ran all the way to Florish and Blotts. Honestly. George sipped his tea, standing at the shop's upstairs window staring down at the crowd. Verity had come in early and stood behind him. She didn't look much happier.

"All due respect Mr Weasley, but I ain't interviewing all that lot." She folded her arms and sat on the step by the window.

"George." He mumbled into his mug.

"All due respect George, I still ain't interviewing all that lot."

George only sighed. He did not want Verity out of sorts. He'd learnt his lesson some time ago; if Verity was happy Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was happy.

"We'll have to stay closed today. Pop the sign to 'Go Away' and send about thirty of them in. Then you can nip home if you like. Take the day off."

The sound of a huff as Verity stalked off was only a mild improvement. Apparently WWW wasn't happy today after all.

* * *

Hermione ended up at St Mungo's a whole half hour early. She supposed that had she really taken a personal day, she'd feel guilty and no doubt want to make it up to Sullivan. Well maybe not to Sullivan, but make it up to her own higher expectations. Making coffee in the small staff room to the left of the research lab, Hermione started as the door was flung open.

"You skiving bitch." Lucy stormed into the room, ignoring Hermione's swiftly drawn wand and stiff demeanour, and plopping herself unceremoniously on the kitchen counter.

"Opps. I've startled you again haven't I? Sorry." Lucy apologised, finally taking in Hermione's shaken countenance. Hermione kicked herself for her extreme reaction.

"Don't be sorry. One day I'll remember no-ones after me."

_Actually, they are sort of after you again Granger. But you don't know that yet, so shut up. _

"One day you'll warn your mates before skiving off. It was bloody miserable without you. Sullivan was a right bloody pain."

"I'm sorry, and I wasn't skiving off. I had to take a personal day." Hermione corrected her friend.

"Mhm. Betting pool on level four is that you put the redheaded menace in there yourself." Lucy whispered conspiratorially while summoning an empty coffee cup from the opposite bench.

"What?" Hermione gasped, flabbergasted. "Who could honestly think I'd put Ron in hospital? You're barmy. He put himself in hospital" Hermione sniffed, affronted. She couldn't help but wonder what utter nonsense was probably being spread around the hospital this very minute. But she supposed it provided some sort of cover. It didn't take a lot to fool the ministry after all.

"Mhm. I may have a flutter then, you know, if you're telling the truth the odds are in my favour."

"Do you have any ethical stipulations whatsoever?" Hermione asked, grimly stirring the dregs of her coffee.

"Not when it comes to robbing Stacey Campbell of a few Galleons. Serve the cow right for spreading tales about you won't it?" Lucy nodded, only the glint in her eye giving away her jest.

"Oh so you're acting in the service of a friend. In that case, I'm flattered." Hermione added glibly.

"You should be, especially after you abandoned me like that." Lucy went on in a long-suffering voice.

"Come on, it can't have been that bad, what actually happened?"

"There were double the amount of ministry clerks rushing around after Sullivan, which put his mood right off. There were about a dozen on the floor altogether, then this right smarmy bloke who went around and talked to everyone, while they were trying to get work done. Sullivan just about had a stroke."

Hermione could imagine her boss' reaction; he was unbearable if he caught Lucy and her so much as whispering.

"Did he tell the man off?" Hermione wondered, trying to weigh up exactly where Sullivan's power over the ward now rested.

"Not a chance. He went white as a sheet and bit his tongue. It's a wonder he wasn't dripping blood at the mouth." Lucy sniggered.

"Must have been someone important then" Hermione mused, more to herself than anything. Lucy eagerly nodded.

"He seemed a nice bloke though. Charming and a dead-looker, you know the type. He was by my desk chatting for a good half hour." Lucy's smile was more than a little coy here.

"Your mum will be pleased." Hermione laughed half-heartedly. It was a long running joke between them that Lucy's pureblood widowed mother had only consented to her daughter's career choice in the fervent hope she would one day snag a handsome healer.

"No I'm afraid it's a fully trained Healer or the wedding's doomed." Her friend sniggered.

Hermione tried to laugh along but her smile was muted at the mere mention of a wedding. Perhaps Lucy would finally take home a handsome muggle-born healer courtesy of the ministry's new law. Hermione drained the last of her cup, eager to hide her weary face. Every thing was about to change.

* * *

"What do you mean, I need to fill in a form to look at another form?" Severus' voice was barely above a whisper as he stared incredulously at the man across the desk. It was the closest his voice had come to his earlier silky hues since the accident, but even it wasn't enough to shake the sickly smile off the contrary man's face.

"Rules are rules I'm afraid sir, you understand. I don't make them and all that." He paused here, still smiling as he shuffled through the forms on his desk. "Well actually I did make a few of them myself, but all in the name of productivity mind you."

If the man saw Severus' expression he gave no indication of it. Severus was sure anyone else on the receiving end of his current glare would have turned over stone cold.

"I don't want to check out the patent, I don't want to make an alterations. I just want to physically look at the patent for the revised concentration of Dittany." Severus struggled to keep his tone reasonable. He had no desire to make this more difficult than it was already proving to be.

The man looked up his smile shattered. "Well that's an entirely different form! Why didn't you say to start with?"

Severus couldn't remember the last time someone had chastised him. He had to make a concerted effort to close his mouth as he literally gaped at the odd man in front of him.

"You cannot be serious sir. I will not be filling out any forms." Severus growled lowly at the man.

"I'm afraid it's policy sir. Anyone wishing to observe confidential paperwork must fill out a form." The man's no-nonsense tone took no notice of Severus' growl, putting him firmly in mind for a moment, of Poppy Pomfrey's bedside manner.

"The patent is under my name. I see no issue broaching confidentiality." Severus continued stiffly.

The man once again looked up and before Severus was sure what he was actually witnessing, he had let out an impatient sigh and rolled his eyes. Severus was all but thunderstruck.

"Well why didn't you say man! I've no time to be mess around." Even in his impatience, the odd man still kept his thin lips tucked into a small grin, clearly delighting in the tedious bureaucracy. Tottering to his feet, the wizard reached the tall filing cabinets that lined the back wall of his office.

"Registered name?" He asked while rifling through his keys, making a show of unlocking the highly confidential case files. Severus sneered, wondering if the man's odd, yet undiscriminating treatment of him was about to come to an end.

"Snape." He answered tight-lipped, waiting for the man to turn his head in either shock or disgust. The plump man did neither, bending instead to pull a weighty file from one of the bottom-most drawers. Either the man was a social recluse, or an imbecile. Snape was not the most common of names after-all.

"Standard file access permits the client thirty minutes with the file, to extend the limit you must fill in a standard extension request, to view the file unsupervised you need a signed certificate of authorisation from at least three ministry officials. Single client patents are marked in green; dual-client and collaboration patents are filed in magenta and blue respectively. The papers are not to be marked, folded, creased or damaged in any way and any resulting impairment requires a ledge of responsibility to be filled out by both the offending party and a witness to the event." The man rattled off this speech with the self-satisfied air of someone who had taken great pains to memorise a piece of information, and no call to do so for some length of time. Clearly Snape's identity, indeed his very presence was but a subsidiary reason for the man to perform his bafflingly prized role.

Severus was not complaining. Nodding, bemused, as he flicked his way to the only magenta file in the weighty folder. So it was there after all.

_She hasn't lied once. Damn her. _

* * *

Lucy had been quite disappointed, when they finally entered the slowly filling lab that morning, on being unable to point out her charming new ministry target. As she and Hermione settled into the quietest corner of the lab awaiting orders, Hermione had watched her friends eyes flick determinedly around the room, then creasing in confusion. Had Hermione not had other things on her mind, she might have found the silent pantomime amusing, but as it was, her own eyes were anxiously flitting around the crowd of new researchers and silent ministry officials. Had they noticed her arrival today? Had they all scrutinized her absence yesterday? Was she giving herself away?

Why was acting naturally suddenly the most unnatural thing in the world?

Hermione shifted, suddenly all to aware of the way she was standing, her body language and positioning. Was this how she usually held her hands? She only barely kept herself from fidgeting as Sullivan swept into the room with the remainder of the research assistants filling in behind him.

_It's all in your head. No one's looking at you_.

No matter how firmly she told herself this, her hands still felt unnatural, as though artificially arranged.

"Ahh Granger. Decided to come in today then!" Sullivan boomed across the room upon spotting her hidden in the back row.

_Oh yeah, no one will notice._

Hermione flushed a thousand shades of red, and opened her mouth automatically to retort when Lucy quietly nudged her with her leg.

_Now is not the time for outrage Granger, you're meant to be blending in._

"I am sorry sir. It was my first ever absence though." She replied with a patience she didn't quite feel.

Sullivan seemed all too smug at the opportunity of bringing the great Hermione Granger down a peg, and his smile was beyond condescending.

"Just see that it doesn't happen again." He replied imperiously before turning his attention elsewhere, not waiting for a reply. Granted, on any other day Hermione would have stiffly argued her case, but with the press of ministry officials observing, and her own anxious efforts to appear normal and unobtrusive, it was all she could do to nod. She could feel Lucy let out a relieved sigh beside her.

"Though you were about to get on your high horse then." The witch whispered conspiratorially, ignoring the droning Sullivan who once again was directing the legion of researchers to their allotted positions. Hermione only sniffed angrily before muttering back.

"There's a long day ahead."

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, prospective employees, welcome to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes." George stood upon the top of the staircase, leaning against the rail and looking down at the sea of faces below him. Some were obviously anxious while a few cocksure grins managed to shine out of the crowd. Donning his most mischievous grin, George continued to address the silent, jam-packed room. "Now, I'm not much for technicalities, but if you can all just sign these quickly, we can get straight into it."

Flicking his wand, two neatly stacked piles of parchment floated downwards and dispersed itself through out the massing crowd while a collection of silver quills rose out of thin air to fill the empty hands of the confused patrons.

George grinned down from the railing as the sounds of quills quietly scratching filled the room. It really was amazing how quick people were to trust him now he was a 'war hero'. Amazing and perhaps slightly pitiful.

* * *

Stalking deftly down the length of Diagon Alley, Severus could all but feel the glares of the crowd pressing against his billowing robes. His pace was just so swift as to bring the ordeal to a hasty end, but not enough to display any signs of reluctance or guilt. He was after all, at perfect liberty, to simply walk down the street. Turning the corner to reach Grignotts he was partially taken aback by the tremendous line of people queuing at the Weasley's purple monstrosity of a façade. Keeping his face carefully impassive, he swallowed down an appreciative smirk. While the ginger twins had made his teaching career all the more miserable for their raucous efforts, he had to admit a small part of him respected their magical flair, and went so far as to laud their efforts under the reign of Umbridge.

Just as he passed the shop front, ignoring the whispers that followed him down the line, a large crash emanated from inside, followed by an uproar of muffled cries and screams.

Severus only rolled his eyes as he continued down the cobbled road, no longer the focus of the line's scrutiny.

* * *

Hermione guiltily glanced at the clock as it hit twelve. Around her the lab was abuzz with activity, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what scared her more. The ruthless ferocity with which the junior researchers tore through their work, brutally discarding and reshaping theories, or their unthinking determination to find a cure, with no conscious awareness of what it was they were working towards. Perhaps they both filled her with an irrational fear as to the well-oiled machine that she would soon be fighting against. But more than that, it filled her with an undeniable sense of shame. That only two days earlier, she had shared their determined abandon. She had thrown herself in wholeheartedly with little concern to the purpose of her research.

This sickening sense of shame would not abandon her, and doubled as she dutifully recorded today's results. It didn't seem to make a difference that she did the work in subterfuge, that it meant her protection until Kingsley could locate a safe house, until her security could be assured. The neat list of her observations seemed to mock her, physical evidence of her betrayal. For that's what it was. With every insight she shared on the ministries work, she was inching them closer and closer to a means of harming not only herself, but also all those soon to be persecuted by the law.

While she couldn't ignore her own guilt, she saw no signs that it had been observed by anyone else. She felt under no more scrutiny than any other healer bent over their station. There seemed no evidence that any of the ministry officials suspected her knowledge. She did wonder what they meant to do in four days time; whether they had deluded themselves so far as to believe she would willingly work for such a cause, married or not. It was far more likely, she presumed, that Sullivan didn't care either way. This somewhat paradoxically, only strengthened her resolve to skirt the law. The law threatened her position, her internship and her future career. She would sooner run than see it fade away without a fight.

Glancing up again to stealthily observe the room, she noted the ministry official's whispering to one and other restlessly. Sure enough, the shorty dumpy wizard Hermione recognised from the other day looked down at his wristwatch before announcing to the room that they were all free to go to lunch. Hermione saw the faint quirk of irritation that passed over Sullivan's face like a roaming shadow, before briskly left the room. Clearly her mentor wasn't enjoying the ministries interference in the least. Setting aside her quill and the slim notepad the Ministry had charmed against leaving the lab's vicinity, Hermione filed out of the room with the rest of the green clad staff, quickly catching up with Lucy out on the stair well.

"Hey" Lucy greeted simply as they made their way down the stairs to the muggle food court across the street. The food in the coffee shop was bland and over priced, and luckily there was a muggle university of medicine not so far away that their robes could be mistaken for muggle hospital scrubs. Hermione couldn't help but note her friends limp tone, so devoid of its usual animation.

"Hey yourself." She smiled back. "I do hope your not moping over our missing ministry man?" Hermione was not one who generally teased, but it was all part of their fledging friendship's dynamic. Had she poured her true concern for her friend's mood into words, the witch proved swift to change the subject entirely. No, in befriending Lucy, Hermione had had to adopt this unfamiliar slytherin communication.

"Oh no, not at all. I'm sure he's had to keep himself away for fear of falling head over heels for me, that's all." Lucy replied in an easy banter.

"Ah, naturally. Perhaps he somehow heard of your mother's stipulations?" Hermione quipped quietly, earning her a drawn out snigger from the girl.

"I did want to ask though, what happened to the research into colour changing ink? They scrapped it?" Hermione adopted a tone of mere curiosity, concealing the fact she need as much useful information from Lucy as she could subtly gather.

Lucy apparently didn't find the question all too out of a character, Hermione supposed her reputation as a nosy know-it-all was finally working to her advantage.

"No I think they got it to work. A drop of a patient's blood into the mixture, with a few alterations of course, and the colour shifts according to the various blood work changes. I still reckon it's a bit barmy. What we've got now works just fine." Lucy puzzled out, while Hermione simply muttered her agreement.

Just as Hermione was about to needle more information out of her, Lucy began chatting away of her own accord as to the other developments Hermione had missed. Hermione felt a slight pang of guilt, using her friends as a source of information, but reasoned the inkling away. After all, she hadn't actually posed Lucy the question; someone who knew her character all to well had just correctly apprehended her intentions.

"There's only three interns still working with the Faerie wings. I think they mean to scrap that one altogether. The results were solid enough but there's been such a shortage in the last fifty years or so that any feasible product of the research would be ridiculously expensive. To be honest I'd only ever heard it used in girding potions. You know, old time endurance potions."

Hermione nodded, doing her best not to blurt out the other illicit use of the potion to her friend. Not out of fear for her own cause, but because Hermione now genuinely believed that the less anyone knew of the Ministries intentions the better: It would only take a few whispers to circulate, and the ministry might move their plan forward immediately. Hermione couldn't help but wonder how many people might actually connect the potion with the illegal contraceptives of antiquity. Not many surely.

"So the interns they had working on Faerie Wings have been moved along to help with the Caligula research." Lucy continued unbidden. "They've left the same people working with the Nightshade of course, but I think that one will take them a while longer. You know, I can't remember learning anything on it at Hogwarts." Lucy confided, her brow drawn.

"Me either." Hermione agreed, adopting her friend's puzzled tone. Far better Lucy assume its omission was due to Professor Snape's oversight than a deliberate exclusion from the curriculum. How anyone could assume their Professor could forget to include anything was beyond Hermione, but if Lucy didn't question it, she wouldn't bring it up.

After all, the man had done nothing to deserve her praise of his intelligence, even as an aside. Not to mention it was particularly un-Gryffindor.

Just as they reached the ground floor and entered into the bustling waiting room, a swarm of people erupted from the floo with muffled cries as they bent forward, clutching desperately at huge mounds of flesh that seemed to clutch onto their faces. It took Hermione a confused moment as she surveyed the wailing crowd to realise the mounds of flesh were in fact engorged noses, with most of the afflicted persons grasping at them only in an attempt to help their necks support the massive weight.

Knowing it was vastly inappropriate to laugh, Hermione couldn't help but stare with her mouth open at the thirty or so people, still making their way through the large fire grate. One accident with a swelling solution was understandable, but for more than two dozen patients to show the exact same symptoms in the exact same place, all streaming in from the same place; those were not the signs of an accident.

Hermione swiftly kicked herself into action, following the crowd of people to the stressed welcome witch and attempting to make some sense of the scenario. Grasping firmly onto the arm of a tall slender man not much older than herself, Hermione calmly asked after the particulars of the incident, only to have the man stare back at her, eyes wide with shock as his lips tightened dramatically. If Hermione thought the reaction odd, it was nothing to the sounds of his mumbled cries through his tightly pursed lips.

Frowning at the wizard's reaction, she turned again and sought out another afflicted patient, this time a robust man in brightly coloured robes. Again the only response to her questions were the muffled anxious squeals as the man, almost comically, abandoned the support of his enormous nose and attempted to mime out his answer; quite unsuccessfully. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh before she realised what it was the man was waving in her face.

Taking the scrunched up wad of paper off him, she flattened out the creases and instantly recognised the Weasley Wizard's Wheezes symbol. It looked to be an advert torn from the page of this mornings prophet and Hermione only had to make out the words 'Casual Vacancy' before she was able to piece the evidence together. Making her way towards the now near hysterical waiting witch, Hermione schooled her face into a grim expression. George would definitely be hearing from her later.

* * *

It was the most gold Severus had ever seen amassed in his family vault. It had be all but empty on his first trip to Diagon Alley, his mother sweeping far into the grand family vault's shadowed corners to muster enough for his school things. His salary from Hogwarts had been modest, but with the school providing board, meals, and most significantly potion's ingredients, he had slowly amassed a comfortable nest of savings. Until of course, his megalomaniac dark master had solicited war funds from his loyal servants. On his only visit since his recovery, he had deposited a small stack of galleons to the otherwise empty vault; it was all that remained from the insurance pay out after he had bought his new house and assembled his lab.

There was no longer a mere single stack of gold.

Severus would love to believe it was all the result of his potion labours, that he simply had underestimated the profits of his small mail order business. Admittedly some of it was entirely down to that. Some of it was no doubt due to his own earlier patents, which had probably amassed quite slowly as a product of his own modest lifestyle.

But there was no denying the evidence of his own eyes; Deposited in a separate pile to the left of the large vault was a far from modest mound of gold and silver. Severus stalked across the damp echoing stone floor to better survey the heap. He wasn't quite sure how he could resent an inanimate pile of coins. But he did.

Staring down as the flickering vault light made the coins glitter dimly, Severus glowered dispassionately. This was what he'd stormed through the burrow for. This is what he'd reduced Granger to tears over; this small, innocuous heap of coins that he suddenly found so intensely distasteful. For a fleeting moment he considered collecting up the pile and depositing it into Granger's vault, but his pride quickly smothered the notion. He would not surrender his last vestiges of dignity. To go back to the Burrow, to admit his ignorance and disgrace, it was frankly insupportable. Sweeping his cloak behind him, Severus stalked out of the vault without a second glance. The weight of his coin bag at his hip, although collected from the vault's primary pile, still niggled at his conscience: a physical manifestation of the guilt weighing him down.

* * *

George sipped his tea, staring down out of the window at the empty street below. It hadn't taken that long to clear the queue after all. Admittedly his methods had been of the lateral variety, but surely no one could deny his results.

Except of course for the fact he had failed to fill the position. Every single applicant had lied when asked to complete a seemingly simple aptitude test; in turn triggering the latent swelling jinx contained in the magical contracts each had willingly signed. George accepted on some level there would be later complications to deal with, but the fact was, every person who had signed that form, had signed not only a non-disclosure agreement, but also a magical oath to tell the truth. They had not been forced to sign anything and could naturally leave at any point in the proceedings. Legally he knew he was beyond fault. So long as his mam never learnt of today's proceedings he was in the clear.

And, if she did, well, he'd still done worse.

Smirking down once more at the empty street, George couldn't help but feel a niggling emptiness on his side. It still felt chilling, sharing these moments of victory with a ghost upon his shoulder rather than a brother at his side.

Before he became truly maudlin, the bell jangled from downstairs and George was torn from his darker thoughts.

"Applications have closed for the day." He called down the stairs wearily, not bothering to look down at the identity of the applicant. Nothing more than a silence met his words for a long moment, before a defeated murmur of ascent drifted up the stairs. The bell jangled once more, seemingly dimmed by the empty echoing room.

George pressed his forehead against the second storey window, following the wake of a hunched over figure. It didn't occur to him to match the mumble of defeat to the stranger he now watched amble down the street. There was something else that captured George's attention to the hunched over youth, some niggling of familiarity.

George sipped his tea once more, trying to follow the elusive trail of recollection, before another sandy haired youth came to the forefront of his mind. George quickly abandoned his half empty cup, launching himself down the stairs and out of the shops front door before the bell had the faintest chance of ringing. Jogging swiftly down the cobblestone alley, George soon caught up with the slight sandy haired youth.

There was definitely no mistaking him now. True, the face George remembered had been full of laughter and undisguised delight at even the simplest magic. It had lit up easily at every joke shop product, at even the slightest of successes during those long ago DA meetings.

"Dennis!" George called out before the boy- no, man- slipped through the crowd of pedestrians.

Dennis Creevey still had all the vestiges of youth in his face, but the eye that now meet George's were those of an old soul, full of suffering. This didn't stop him adopting a grin of welcome that George forced himself to mirror.

"How about that job then?" George burst out without further small talk. It was worth it to see just the briefest flicker of life light up the younger wizard's face.

"Just like that?" Dennis asked incredulously, doubt creeping through his voice. George supposed that was reasonable, considering the five or so times he'd turned the boy into a large malting canary.

"Come have a cupper, and we'll talk it over." George grinned, shepherding him through the street and back into his shop. It was nice, for both of them he thought, to have someone fill the emptiness by their side once more.

* * *

Note: For something that took me so long to put together, it doesn't seem all that long now. Thank you all for your patience, and please don't hate me!


	20. Chapter 20 - Unexpected guests

**Disclaimer: All belongs to JKR and I'm not profiting from this work**

_Note: This is only half the chapter up, I never meant to leave it as I did but I felt I couldn't leave you without an update this week. Hope you all enjoy, and thank you all for the reviews on the last chapter: It's great to know you're all enjoying it and all constructive criticism is a god send :) _

* * *

_Politics is not a game. It is an earnest business._

_**Winston Churchill**_

* * *

Severus knew it would be too late before he'd even left for Hogsmeade. Apparating from Diagon Alley, he'd kept his scowl fierce and his gait determined. To all those who saw him suddenly appear in Hogsmeade's town centre, he was the same aloof Professor Snape they'd always known. Beneath his stern exterior though, a battle between guilt and dread raged on.

He shouldn't have sent the letter until he'd checked in with the patents office, until after his trip to the vault. He'd been as brash and foolish as any common Gryffindor; he'd let his emotions run away with him. Although perhaps it would be more apt to say he'd let the whiskey run away with him. The point still stood though, he had been an idiot.

He had rushed through the village of Hogsmeade, paying no mind to the startled gasps and shocked stares that followed his wake in the soft summer dusk. Storming into the post office he had quietly, and somewhat threateningly, asked if it was too late to cancel the owl he'd hired, if there was any way the letter could be retrieved.

The clerk looked next to tears as he answered. The owl had been sent immediately. Apparently no one had wanted to keep Severus Snape waiting. Sneering down at the spindly postal worker, Severus spun out of the building, his robes flaring dramatically behind him.

He'd known he would be too late. Swirling into the still warm night air, Severus cursed the faint hope he'd nursed, before swiftly apparating away.

* * *

Hermione had been dreaming of bed since around 4.30. Drifting through the lab she felt the heavy press of movement surround her as though from very far away. The small murmurs of the other researches, the dull hum of liquids boiling, and utensils hitting the bench tops all droned together. The notes she had steadfastly written swam in front of her, leading her eyes around the pages, without ever letting the information reach her brain. By five o'clock she was just going through the motions, focusing on looking the part, acting interested, appearing concerned. It was the first time her work, indeed, any academic pursuit she'd engaged herself in, had felt flat. She had absolutely no interest in the numbers and figures in front of her.

Which is not to say she failed to understand their significance.

The ministry had found what it was looking for. At least, Hermione had. She seriously doubted the Ministry would be able to piece all their information together and reach the same conclusions in less than a fortnight.

At least, she hoped they wouldn't.

The integration of a blood analysis potion with colour-changing ink; the reversal of Faerie Wings and Nightshade, the exploration of Caligula's effects: They were not, as Hermione had first, rather ignorantly suspected, all separate antidotes.

They technically weren't antidotes at all.

Faeries wings, when used in an illegal subversion of a girding potion served as an anti-conception agent. The ministry couldn't have that now, not when their proposed law was created with the specific goal of reproduction. The researchers had identified the reactive extracts in the ingredients that modified the standard girding potion. By isolating the magic that prevented pregnancy, they could create something to neutralise it. Hermione scanned down the list of observations and spotted just the ingredient the ministry needed to achieve this neutralisation. Kneazle Blood would magically locate the foreign anti-conception agents and render them useless. Unfortunately, where Faerie Wings were rare and expensive to obtain, Kneazle blood was cheap and plentiful. Luckily, the ministry had them fairly low down on their list of options; if they were to test each agent before coming to a solid conclusion, they'd easily waste their 30-day time limit.

That's if no one else with a basic understanding of logic took the time to evaluate the listed materials. Luckily logic was such a rarity in the magical world then.

_Still though…_

Hermione slumped back into the workbench's high stool, nibbling absent-mindedly on the back of her quill. Perhaps Hermione could do her best to delay the ministry's inevitable success. Drawing a pencil out of the bun at the top of her head, Hermione lightly went over the entire list, placing small, mostly unobtrusive ticks next to most of the ingredients, and faint crosses next to a few of the dafter ideas. Making her way through the list she looked up, covertly checking the room around her before placing a cross by Kneazle blood.

It wasn't technically sabotage, Hermione told herself, still chewing on her bottom lip. She wasn't actively crossing the items off the list, and she wasn't coercing anyone to follow her notes.

She was simply trusting that they would. Her time at St Mungo's may be limited, but she could safely say her knowledge and intellect were still highly valued. Casting the list aside, Hermione steeled her nerves and once again set about examining the lab's collection of observations: This time on Nightshade.

The ministry had so far correctly identified Nightshade's historically illicit use as a post-coitus means of preventing pregnancy. From what she could determine from the notes, It seemed to Hermione like an exceptionally brutal variation of the muggle morning after pill: Instead of simple preventing the egg from attaching itself to the uterine wall, or indeed the sperm from attaching to the egg, a specially prepared mixture of the plant would simply force the recipient to menstruate prematurely, gorging the uterus of all offensive material.

The plant was highly poisonous; indeed the most commonly obtained strain of it was Atropa Belladonna, which even muggles throughout history had noted as a dangerous poison. Hermione grimly frowned, remembering the abandoned hoard of it that had been piled in Hogwarts' Room of Requirement. It would take either a very foolish, or very desperate young girl to consider such options.

Her frown only deepened when she considered exactly what the Ministry's preparations showed: They had casually accepted that some witches would be just desperate enough to risk their lives to prevent an unwanted pregnancy, and their only efforts in the face of this knowledge, were aimed at protecting the foetus. Every note on every page Hermione had read through showed exactly that: The interns had extensively covered the several ways of counteracting the drug's contraceptive effects without so much as referencing the several other toxins which would be released into the patients bloodstream.

Hermione drummed her fingers along the bench once more, looking for even the smallest way to delay the ministries research. Glancing at the clock once more she wished her head wasn't so foggy. It was very nearly 6.30 and Hermione knew she would soon be counting down the minutes before she could return to Grimauld Place and leave the tense, inclosing hospital behind her.

Reading through the notes once more, Hermione reasoned her only input could be to point out the toxic nature of the drug once more, and hope her notes would be read by someone with a last enduring shred of humanity.

_Which is a long shot really._

Shuffling the papers once more after making her entry, Hermione glanced over the Blood Analysis/Colour-changing-inks folder. Here, at least, she was too late to make any significant impact. The research had been concluded on only their second day, and what had at first seemed like a step backwards for St Mungo's efficiency, was actually a quite ingenious, if immoral, method for the Ministry to keep tabs on the fruits of the nation's marital labours. A drop of an individual's blood on the marriage certificate would later change colours according to different hormonal factors: namely the increase attributed entirely to pregnancy. In most cases, Hermione presumed, the ministry would be aware of an oncoming child weeks before the parents.

_Which is possibly the most disgusting invasion of privacy in magical history_.

Hermione sighed. If only she'd come into work yesterday. She might have been able to delay the research, perhaps even full out sabotage could have been excused. Hermione lightly shook her head. It was no use heaping guilt onto her conscience. She knew that, and yet she would never be able to forget that she had personally aided this project. Her conclusions had irrefutably contributed. It was a mark against her name that she would never scrub clean.

Hermione glanced down at the thick wad of notes the junior researchers had compiled on their work with Caligula. It would take her a full day to sort that lot out and draw conclusions, and with her current state of mind, she wouldn't be able to retain so much as half the information. Looking up as the clock struck 6:30, Hermione resolved to leave the work for tomorrow, and gathered up her notes, leaving them in a neat pile by her workstation.

Several heads looked up from their research as Hermione rose from her bench walked through the room. Her contract with St Mungo's specified her hours as 9 – 6.30 and Hermione knew that technically she was free to leave. It certainly didn't feel that way as she made her way across the wide airy lab, now lit up and still full of constant activity. She could feel the stares of the ministry officials boring into her back as she reached the door and struggled to control her breathing. She needed to appear calm, to act naturally. Fainting due to a lack of oxygen suited neither purpose.

Once she finally reached the landing at the top of the staircase, Hermione let out a deep sigh of relief. Thank the gods today was over. She  
would never survive as a double agent. All day, every simple task had felt cumbersome and unnatural, as though every person in the room could see through her. Making her was down the stairs, Hermione tried to level out her breathing and relax her tense muscles, but something was still weighing her down at the back of her mind. It was a niggling feeling that wouldn't leave her alone, even in the throes of her triumph. She couldn't look forward to returning home, to finally getting to bed, not when there was something she'd forgotten pressing deep beneath her skull. Slowing her step on the stairs, Hermione drew in her brow and tried desperately to place the thought. Was there something she was meant to do? Something she'd left up in the lab?

Turning the corner, Hermione stepped on to the second floor landing and came face to face with the directory sign. It only took a glance at the words "Fourth Floor- Spell damage" for Hermione to realise the source of the relentless nagging feeling. She hadn't thought of Ron once all day. She'd had countless chances to duck in and see him, and it had completely slipped her mind.

Hermione could only hope it was something the ministry had failed to notice; especially if Ginny's idea of a continued romantic pretence was still to be borne. Surely a concerned girlfriend would have been to see him at least briefly while they were in the same building

_Surely a concerned friend would do the same, or any decent person for that matter._

Hermione cringed guiltily, thinking fondly of continuing down the stairs, of flooing through to the warm kitchen of Grimauld Place and sinking in to the soft bed that awaited her there.

It would be so easy to do. To pretend she'd forgotten the matter entirely. That she'd never once remembered.

Sighing Hermione only shifted her bag onto her shoulder and carried on back up the stairs. Sleep would have to wait.

* * *

Severus was still furious with himself as he appeared with a crack in the middle of his living room. Before his cloak had time to settle, his senses were tense and alert as he noted a shift in the magic around him.

His wards had been breached.

Scanning the darkened room, Severus sent out a silent shield charm and homo revelio almost simultaneously. The shield charm stayed in tact as the room remained just as still and lifeless as ever, except for the faint glow slowly pulsing from the cottage's modest kitchenette. Wand held aloft and shield charm still in place; Severus stalked silently through the shadows, a curse on the tip of his tongue.

Rounding the corner Severus had to bite back a curse as he almost stumbled over the prone figure of Draco Malfoy, immobilised on the cold kitchen tiles.

Scowling, Severus let the shield charm fade away before stalking to the other end of the kitchen and muttering the counter curse to let the boy up.

"Just what, may I ask, compelled you to break into my house this evening Draco?" Severus asked gruffly as he leant against the counter, pointedly not levelling his wand.

"Lovely to see you too Uncle. Impressive wards, you always did have a way with company." Draco drawled sarcastically, the effect somewhat lessened as he picked himself off the dusty kitchen floor.

"You weren't home when I flooed. Mother was worried."

"If you're trespassing was merely out of concern for my health, feel free to go and assuage your mother's concern. I am entitled to leave the house you know."

"Oh we knew that, it's just for months it's seems to have slipped your attention. Was that fire whisky I spotted by the mantle?" Draco queried without really asking, making his way through to the small sitting room and helping himself to a glass.

"By all means, make yourself at home" Severus snarled, somewhat irritated by the house call. He was more than capable of looking out for himself. He'd done so for forty odd years without anyone blundering into his house after him.

"Now there's my gracious godfather's renowned hospitality once more. Actually uncle, I actually have a bit of a business proposition for you. What do you know about Caligula?"

* * *

Hermione was slightly out of breath as she climbed the last few steps to the fourth floor. She didn't have to time to think as she bustled through the empty ward and she wasn't quite sure what she expected to find as she rounded the corner into Ron's room.

Walking into a room crowded with laughing nurse staff definitely wasn't it. Lowering her bag from her shoulder, Hermione quietly continued into the room unnoticed. Ron was animatedly telling a story, flailing his uninjured arm around while two pretty nurses, one Asian and one brunette, ate up his dramatics. Hermione had nearly reached the bed when the other participant in the room, a taller, blonde male turned from the bed to greet her with a surprised smile.

"Miss Granger! We'd just abandoned hopes of meeting you. Visiting hours are almost over!" The man laughed, shifting so Hermione could clearly see Ron leant back against the pillows, smiling weakly at her.

"Ahh yes, I'm abusing staff privileges I'm afraid." Hermione joked weakly while tugging at her lime green robes, noticing for the first time that the stranger wasn't wearing any. His robes were light grey and closely resembled the cut of a modern muggle suit. Hermione glanced up at his face once more as she faintly recalled Kingsley's inquiry about a tanned, blonde wizard from the ministry. This man fit the description to a tee.

Hermione suddenly felt like a deer in the headlights, caught between moving to Ron's side or pleading an excuse and leaving. How could she leap into the pretence of a relationship after Ron's pale greeting, after the wizard's reference to her own neglectfully late appearance? What if Arthur hadn't spoken to Ron yet? And was Hermione meant to feign jealousy over the two probably lovely nurses who had kept Ron company in her absence? The wizard's attention never wavered once as an odd stalemate fell across the room.

_Shit._

* * *

_Note: Hope you liked it! Please review or PM me, it really does make my day :)_


	21. Chapter 21 - Opportunities

Disclaimer: This work is fan based and not for profit, everything belongs to JKR, I simply covet her possessions from afar.

Note: Hey guys, slightly irregular delay, I know, I'm sorry. It seems that while I am the mast of real life awkward situations, writing them is more difficult. Who'd have known? Anyway, hope you enjoy, keep sending those reviews my way! and Moi, I tried to answer all your questions but damn it all the last one simply wouldn't fit in this chapter! I'm sorry to keep you waiting but trust me! It'll all be revealed :)

* * *

_A wise man will make more opportunities than he finds. _- **Francis Bacon**

* * *

If Emmanuel was forced to pick one aspect of his job that he enjoyed most, it was this. Even walking into the reception of St Mungo's at the very early 7.30AM wasn't enough to quash the undeniable feeling of exhilaration he still felt. That said, it was still a rather close call; his job had many upsides, perks you could call them. The joy of the hunt was just one of many.

Emmanuel often wondered if he was so good at his job because he enjoyed it, or rather, if he only truly enjoyed it because he was good at it; either way, the fact remained, _he was damned good at it._

He'd risen through five divisions in the ministry in the last four years alone. True, Pius Thicknesses' regime had had a heavy hand in that, but it was still an extraordinary statistic, and one Emmanuel was immensely proud of. After all, it had been his own cunning that delivered him safely from Dolores' Umbridge and Muggle Born registration commission.

He'd had a lot of respect for Dolores- but it hadn't stopped him Obliviating the witch shortly after Undesirable Number 1's break in to Grignotts. He flattered himself on having correctly pinpointed the turning of the war's tide. After that, it was a simply matter of Imperiusing the witch and having himself demoted to the Floo Regulation Centre.

The move hadn't simply saved his career; it had saved his entire public persona. His name never featured on the slate of witches and wizards persecuted for their activities under You-know-who's regime. Any faint recollection of the boy who'd aided Dolores Umbridge, who had spent those endless months (successfully) tracking down the family trees of the witches and wizards who'd tried to avoid the ministries man hunt, well those recollections were easily washed away. Hadn't the boy got himself demoted? Switched himself to a job with minimum pay and no career prospects, just to assuage his conscience? And at such personal risk too. No, how could anyone bring that lad into doubt.

His continued ascent through the ministry had been swift after that; swift, effortless, and so despairingly _boring._

Hunting down distraught muggleborn's white faced lies and half arsed family tree's, well, it'd been fun for a while, but there had been no real challenge. Getting the drop on Umbridge before the patronising bitch got herself arrested, now that had been a kick.

But so short-lived. He hadn't even been there when they'd carted her off. One of his only career regrets.

All his 'work' since had been so pathetically simple it barely warranted the title. Running Theodore Burges' errands, keeping tabs on the right people, a few discreet hints to the rabble about Kingsley's extreme policies and threat to the ministry.

He'd been so bored.

But now, finally, he'd been presented with a new challenge: _Hermione Granger_.

Oh and how he hoped she would prove a challenge. The fools at the ministry, the fools he worked for, didn't believe she would. Oh no, they'd shipped Emmanuel off with an offer they assumed the girl simple couldn't refuse.

Luckily, Emmanuel was no fool. Luckily, his time under Dolores was finally coming in useful. Emmanuel had been the receiver of a thousand and one lectures on the girl. He'd listened, rather reluctantly, as Dolores raved and ranted about the uppity mudblood bitch.

Perfect grades, secret defence organisations; even a S.P.E.W badge had been brandished about and ruthlessly ridiculed in the pink toad's scorn.

Personally, Emmanuel was eager to meet anyone who'd unleashed a hoard of pissed off centaurs on the irritating woman. But this wasn't personal; it was business.

No, Hermione Granger was set to be a challenge. She would be the acquisition of his career. She was basically _the_ figurehead of "Dawlish's" golden new age.

If the muggle born war hero was seen to endorse the new law, to make such a sacrifice, of duty to the greater good, well then how could anyone else be seen to refuse?

The trick was simply making her amenable to said sacrifice, forcing her, if necessary, to see sense. Emmanuel was confident he was up to the task. Brightest witch of her age or not, this was his field.

After all, there was a reason he'd been laid in charge of this task; it was the very same reason that lead him up the stairs and straight past the experimental potions division, without dawdling on the 3rd floor for even a moment.

Emmanuel had no intentions of watching the Granger girl work all day; what could he really learn from that? No. There was a far more revealing avenue he could exploit, and so conveniently located too. After all, the acquisition of his career depended, at least partly, on Ronald Weasley as well. Hermione Granger might be the 'brains' of the couple, but a little emotional leverage never went astray.

Sauntering in to the fourth floor spell damage ward, Emmanuel flashed a smile to the busty brunette nurse, who blushed prettily as she walked past.

Yes. This job definitely had its perks. Maybe being smarter than everybody else wasn't his favourite part after all.

* * *

"Now there's my gracious godfather's renowned hospitality once more. Actually uncle, I actually have a bit of a business proposition for you. What do you know about Caligula?"

If the last twenty years of Severus' life had depended on his ability to concentrate and listen to the most trivial of conversations, he would have sworn he'd misheard Draco. As it was, his hearing was perfect, his mind completely sound.

"Caligula?" He drawled, partly out of confusion, and more prominently to buy himself time. God he hadn't heard the blasted thing mentioned for at least thirty odd years. His mind desperately raced to gather everything he knew on the subject. It hadn't even been taught when he was at school, and his Master's training had been quite some time ago.

Between drawing a blank now, and failing to recreate the results of Granger's experiment, Severus was starting to think a refresher course wouldn't go amiss.

_What, your mind isn't thriving on self-pity and bottles of Odgens old man? Who'd have thought?_

"Yes, Caligula root. I won't bore you with why I need to know, I simply required a potions lesson, as it were Uncle." Draco diplomatically failed to comment on the obvious stalling tactic.

"How foolish to presume I was done with that part of my life." Severus grumbled, the irony not wasted on him. It seemed he was never to be done with ex-students tearing into his life. "Although, if you want information on that particular magical root, Draco, you'd do far better to consult the old family annals." Severus smirked.

"Yes, yes, how droll. I didn't come here for the old wives tales Uncle Severus."

Severus merely grunted at this. "They're not all wives tales boy. Not without a grain of truth at least."

"Uncle, I assure you, whatever my purposes, I don't intend on dosing up any future brides before I bed them." Draco's civil demeanour flickered here for a moment, adopting a tone of colloquialism that betrayed just how close Severus was to the family. "Well perhaps a light lust potion but I've not planned so far ahead."

Severus merely raised an eyebrow at his godson. He was Lucius' son through and through it seemed.

"The effects of Caligula have been long recorded and often disputed. To my knowledge at least, the substance is banned throughout the whole of Wizarding Britain, and most parts of Europe."

"Not all parts of Europe then." Draco added carefully, in what Severus presumed was meant to be a poker face- albeit a highly transparent one.

_Why does the little shit want to know where it's grown?_

Severus didn't voice that last thought; interrogating the boy would get him nowhere, and he honestly wasn't sure he wanted to know what this was about. The last time he'd involved himself with a Malfoy youth's ventures, he'd come out with far more than a tattoo.

"Wizarding law had never been the most unified of forces. Each country insists on it's own variations. That's not to say the root isn't dangerous. The testing may not be verified but any thorough glance at history, particularly pureblood history, tells us it's not a substance to be meddled lightly with."

Draco's immediate nod and carefully blank expression told Severus all he needed to know. None of this was news to the boy.

"So if your not planning to drug any future fiancés, how else, may I ask, am I supposed to help you Draco? Or do you now consider your lesson now at an end?" Severus continued lethargically. Let the boy spit it out now, or leave him in peace. He was done needling information out of people.

Draco expression slipped for the barest moment as a mask of panic slipped onto his face. Severus hid his smirk by taking a sip of his whiskey, but never taking his eyes of the floundering Malfoy. When the boy finally reined his control in once more and replied, his voice betrayed nothing. Severus was almost proud.

"If one were acquire the drug, legally in another country of course, which Green houses would you recommend? Let's say, theoretically, in the case of large shipments?"

_Ahh, theoretically, of course. _

Severus was silent as he contemplated the boy and his proposition. Letting his arm drape over the arm of his chair, Severus swirled his amber drink, watching the light from the fire fill its depths with warmth. Sitting across from the blonde youth, Severus had to vigorously remind himself that this was not Lucius, that for all his own petty faults, his own vanity and search for family redemptions, Draco had become a man far better than his father. If Severus could not trust the boy he'd almost died to protect, well, he consoled himself that he could at least trust his mother. Narcissa was a cunning woman; she wouldn't let Draco involve himself in anything to damning.

Severus let out a sigh, and stared across the room at Draco once more. He would trust him, against his own better judgement.

_After all, maybe it's about time you started giving ex-students the benefit of the doubt_.

"You've heard of Cornelius Agrippa, I assume" Severus said at last, knowing full well Draco would probably have never heard of him. History of Magic covered him only at NEWT level and sparingly at best.

It was with some surprise than, that Severus noted Draco's look of dawning recognition.

"I think he's on a chocolate frog's card. The muggles locked him up or something." Draco answered, failing to hide the note of misplaced pride in his voice.

_Oh how Severus hated those damn chocolate frog cards._

"How accurately explicit. I won't bore you further then." Severus replied pointedly, and continuing only after Draco adopted a more humble expression.

"Cornelius Agrippa was a 15th century German born Wizard who, as you so astutely put it, was 'locked up' for his alchemical writings. What your chocolate frog card _fails_, to mention, however, is the work he is most renowned for. The work, that legend rather than history tells us, the muggles locked him up for, was '_eclamatio de nobilitate et praecellentia foeminei sexus'_. The Declamation on the Nobility and Pre-eminence of the Female Sex."

Severus chose to ignore Draco's interrupting snort at this, instead continuing his lecture. The boy would learn soon enough.

"Agrippa's academic pursuits, while intriguing, were morally ambiguous at best. He wasn't arrested so much for his academic views, as the means to which he tested them. Even in the fifteenth century, holding a mixture of pre-pubescent, menstruating, and pregnant woman captive was frowned upon. His work was based on the principle that it is the mother of a child, who passes down the magic within the family. His experiments were all in an attempt to control that alleged process; testing a variety of potions and ingredients to determine how they reacted with the 'miracle of creation' as it were."

Draco was no longer smirking, indeed, his face was not so much white as a sickly shade of green and Severus knew his words had certainly had some effect on the boy.

"So then," Draco interrupted, his voice devoid of all former swagger, "The wives tales come from his work. People actually believe that ingesting Caligula root prior to conception, and during pregnancy, will guarantee a magical heir?"

Severus drained his glass, before answering, his voice hoarse and throat sore from the long lecture.

"Well, in a manner of speaking, they're right. If the vast number of still-borns throughout pureblood genealogy shows anything, it's that only a magical child will survive."

* * *

In the end, it was Ron's old maxim that popped into Hermione head. Caught like a deer in the headlights and unable to think of a single thing to say, it was the utterly British and unforgettable slogan of the Weasley family that found its way out of her mouth.

"Is anyone else dying for a cup of tea, or is that just me? Ron, do you want me to get you one?"

Naturally, it was the one thing Hermione could have said to him at that moment, that he didn't question in the slightest. Someone sick? Cup of tea. Someone upset? Cup of tea. Strange ministry official you don't know is here for no apparent reason?

"Sure I'd love one 'mione- Hermione. Sorry."

It was all Hermione could do to restrain a heavy sigh.

_Just lower me into the pits of Tartarus and be done with it._

If the blonde wizard noted the strange slip up he showed no sign of it, and Hermione did her best to keep her shallow smile in place. Just as she went to hang her bag and coat on the back of a stiff visitors chair, the shorter Asian nurse piped up that she would bring the tea over. Judging from the amount of times the girl blushed while declaring 'Oh no, it's not trouble at all miss", she was either part house elf, or incredible star struck.

Thwarted thus, Hermione nervously took a seat besides Ron, at a loss once more of how to fill the uneasy stalemate. Doing her best not to glance at the blonde ministry intruder, Hermione tentatively asked Ron how he'd been.

"How are you doing? Has your dad popped by yet? I know he said he was going to this morning."

Ron's look of confusion basically sealed Hermione's coffin, while his next question nailed it shut.

"When did you get a chance to speak to dad? I mean yeah he popped in this morning before work. Brought grapes, chatted for about five minutes then said he'd got some raid or other that he had to pop off and see." Ron answered, sounding confused at this last point. "Although whoever schedules a raid for 8 in the morning is a bit barmy if you ask me."

The Blonde wizard sniggered to the side, and Hermione was shocked to see Ron grin along without comment. Tossing caution to the wind, Hermione let her confusion (or perhaps more accurately irritation) show.

"I'm sorry, did I miss something?" she asked, looking at the blonde wizard pointedly.

"No not at all Miss Granger. I don't think I introduced myself either; I'm Emmanuel. It's simply that I was telling Ron after Arthur, how I almost interned underneath him at the ministry."

Ron chuckled from the bed, content it seemed to let his new sickbed chum tell the tale.

_Since when is Ron able to laugh about his dad's job?_

"I was just about signed up when Teddy Burges, asked me how I fared with early starts. When I just about blanched he spared my fate. Arthur Weasley is easily one of the most respected members of the ministry- especially since the final battle and Ron's own special part there, eh? But his work ethic definitely isn't for everyone."

Hermione glanced at Ron, expecting him to have finally taken exception, only to find his ears bearing their tell-tale red hue, not out of rage or anger, but an undeniable blush. He was mollified.

It took everything Hermione was made of to refrain from rolling her eyes right then and there. Good lord. Really? Was it really that easy to get her now ex-boyfriend on side? Mysterious stranger from the ministry voluntarily spends most of the day with him, and no alarm bells go off. Not if he throws in the occasional compliment, and brings in the pretty nurses.

_Why on earth are you so irrationally angry Granger?_

_Are you really this fired up about Ron jumping for attention? He's in here bored out his brain; this isn't some act of betrayal. He'd probably talk to anyone._

Still the fact remained, with Ron oblivious to his new friend's ulterior motives; and Hermione was beyond sure that he _had_ ulterior motives, there was no polite way to ask him to leave. That, coupled with Ron's obvious lack of discretion and Arthurs probably interrupted attempt to relay the previous nights plan, meant Hermione could hardly ask for some 'alone time'. Not without Ron giving the entire game away.

This entire situation was beyond salvaging and Hermione wasn't sure what annoyed her more: The imposition the ministry git was posing, or Ron's own failure to grasp the subtleties at play. Honestly. He had been there when they'd learnt about the marriage law; he'd known the ministry were interfering at St Mungos. Why was it Hermione was always required to do his thinking for him?

Hermione stood, still seething with rage and, somewhat paradoxically,_ finally_ filled with an unshakable sense of conviction. Forget the ministry, forget her job, and forget the rest of the Weasleys. Hermione was doing the right thing. There was no way she could ever be prevailed upon to marry Ron.

"Look Ron, I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Work is flat chat at the moment, we're swamped and I'm actually really tired now. I'm going home. But you're obviously in good company here. Tell that nurse girl sorry about the tea, and Emmanuel, it was lovely to meet you, I'll just be goi-" Hermione didn't manage to finish he sentence before the ministry idiot interrupted.

"No, please, I'm afraid I must be off as well, let me escort you downstairs, since your young Mr Weasley here is currently unable."

Hermione couldn't quite discern what made his smile then so predatory; His offer was perfectly gentlemanly, his tone had been light and free from any ominous overtures, yet as he waited for her to collect her bags and held the door open for her, Hermione had the distinct feeling she was being lead out for a quiet stroll over a field of landmines.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed, and that some light has finally been shed on the last ingredient as it were; Please read and review and let me know what you think :) Also, I may, or may not, have a christmas fic in the works, so excuse any delays while my plot bunnies run away with me!

A/N: Also, to acknowledge my sources, I used the Harry Potter Wiki page _here_ ( wiki/Cornelius_Agrippa ) to find and re-create a historical figure that's mentioned in cannon, so no, Cornelius Agrippia isn't an original character, he's mentioned on a chocolate frog card in Philosophers Stone :)


	22. Chapter 22 - The moral high ground

**Disclaimer:** I am paid in love and affection of those who follow, favourite and review. No money is made and JKR is the queen.

_Note: _A new update within a week? In addition to a new christmas fic? I don't understand either, i've just been on a roll and writing while waiting around at the hospital for endless hours. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_The truth of the matter is that you always know the right thing to do. The hard part is doing it._

**Robert H. Schuller **

* * *

He had her. Emmanuel had been in and out of the Weasleys room all day, taking floo calls from the nurse's small vestibule to keep up with work, and chatting them up all the while.

Such little effort for such a productive day: Burges would cry foul if he found out. But when he found out, Emmanuel would have bigger news to deliver.

He knew sweet little Hermione Granger wouldn't come quietly. The tension in the room had been palpable and the attention Weasley had been paying the rather lovely brunette- Allison, if he remembered correctly- had spoken volumes. Either their relationship was on the rocks, or their contacts in the infamous order of the Phoenix had been blabbing. Which was all immaterial- the condition of their relationship was trivial at best: If the Granger girl were shrewd she'd still give the offer descent consideration.

All he had to do was cut her other options off.

A few simple reminders that the ministry would always win; that in the end, she would submit.

Her face had fallen when he'd suggested escorting her downstairs. He was somewhat surprised the witch had made it through the war and the Trio's infamous infiltrations and deceptions: Almost every passing thought was plastered across her face, for all her attempts at subtlety. She was certainly no actor.

The question was, where did the panic stem from, if not a fear that he was from the ministry, a fear that he was here to enforce a law that she wasn't meant to know about.

Either way, Emmanuel could work with fear. Fear was fertile ground for him to work with, a few threats sewn here and there, and within the week the Granger girl would be cracking at the seams, sprouting mistake after mistake after mistake.

* * *

Hermione walked ahead of the blonde wizard, trying to keep a track of where he was out of the corner of her eye. She tried not to walk too quickly, or too slowly. She had to appear normal, casual, at ease.

Not the panicked mess of nerves she truly was.

He'd seen everything. The wizard was obviously taking an expressed interest in her, and the lack of questions, the lack of formal procedure unnerved Hermione more than anything else. Mindless bureaucracy, she could deal with; Legal proceedings, she knew the ins and outs of. Politics and power plays, insinuations and reading between the lines; that wasn't exactly her strong suit.

They walked down the stairs in silence. Hermione couldn't help the waves of tension rolling off her. Why wasn't he saying anything? What was she supposed to say? Would an innocent, ignorant person speak, or wait to be addressed? She had absolutely no idea and all she knew for certain was that continuously glancing out of the corner of eye at the inexplicably unnerving wizard probably wasn't helping.

In the end, Hermione decided putting her foot in her mouth was decidedly more in character- at least more Gryffindor- than letting the awkward silence continue.

"So, you never said, are you one of the wizards monitoring level 4?" Hermione kept her tone conversational and tried, valiantly, to appear apathetic to his presence entirely. Judging from his near shark-like grin, her attempt landed somewhere between pathetic and laughable.

"Yes, yes, well… sort of in that division." He obviously enjoyed the subtleties of such a vague answer: He'd answered perfectly cordially without telling her a single thing. "I must say Miss Granger, and I didn't before only out of delicacy for your Mr Weasley, but I am an enormous fan of yours. What you did for muggle borns everywhere was simply inspiring."

Hermione couldn't tell if she'd imagined the slight emphasis on 'Your Mr Weasley' but she was thoroughly unimpressed by this direction of conversation. If the ministry believed she could be as easily swayed as Ronald in the face of barefaced flattery, they were mistaken.

"When needs must." Was her only response, with all the cold civility her fraying nerves could muster. The man continued undeterred.

"Ahh well yes, but then again that is the attitude one would expect from you. Forgive me when I say but the stories of you do tend to trickle through the Wizarding world- well at least Wizarding Britain."

Hermione merely nodded; unsure what he was supposed to be getting at- was this meant to be threatening? A warning that the ministry was watching her? If so, Hermione wasn't exactly quaking in her boots.

_After touring the country with undesirable number one, a threat so veiled does rather pale in comparison_

"Then again, perhaps the Wizarding world is more accurate. I'm sure you're aware Miss Granger, that the entire magical community of Europe has a, well, let's say a working understanding when it comes to up keeping our core values: Blood, magical blood, does far more than cross borders."

"Well technically speaking I don't have what some would term Wizarding blood." Hermione regretted her sharp retort as soon as it left her mouth. She shouldn't let herself be baited. This was definitely not the type of stranger one engaged in theoretical debate- not if he was serving as the eyes and ears of the ministry.

"Ahh, perhaps in the past political climate, but ever since peacetimes new reign, I think you'll find your blood is more powerful than ever."

Arriving on the second floor landing, the turned once more and made their way down the last flight of stairs, Hermione still hyper aware of the wizard trailing behind her. It was difficult to judge his reactions, and control her own when she couldn't keep a visual on his face.

"It's not just Britain following that line of course: The fall of He-who-must-not-be-named was celebrated world wide. I doubt there's a single other country you could step foot in without being recognised."

_Ahh. _

He had finally gotten to the material point of the conversation. It wasn't merely that Hermione was being watched. It was a reminder, a pointed assertion that she had nowhere to run. That they would always find her.

"I don't really have much business abroad, as it were. The furthest I've gotten in the last six months has been Blackpool." If her humour here was dry, then perhaps her attempts at apathy weren't as forgone as she thought.

"No of course, where does one find the time? I understand, from my colleagues on level four most prominently, that your work is very important to you. Research internships aren't exactly easy to come by of course."

_I.e. We're watching you, you'd never blend in abroad, and we have a tenet of control over your career._

At least the man was succinct. Three subtle threats in the space of a minute and they hadn't yet reached the foyer.

"It is. My time under Healer Sullivan has been most instructive." Hermione had uttered her most unbelievable lie yet, and she dearly hoped the wizard would understand- She'd hate for him to believe his careful threats were going unnoticed. Hermione was the brightest witch of her age and she would not be treated like a moron by the ministry.

The blonde's smile was an inanimate as ever in the face of this, and Hermione knew the message had been well received.

Just as the tense pair descended the last few steps to the landing, a young nurse swathed in baggy green robes came rushing up to Hermione, waving an envelope in the air.

"Hermione! Hermione Granger! This just came, it's an overnight express, the postmark looks Italian! The Matron from level four sent me down straight away to catch you." The nurse's mouth ran faster than her person, and she was still a few feet away when she had finished exalting Hermione's business at the top of her lungs.

Hermione wondered if she could surreptitiously hex her now.

Judging from the silent Emmanuel standing two steps behind her, perhaps not.

"Thank you-" Hermione drew a blank for the younger girls name; she was new to the fourth floor.

"- Sarah." Emmanuel came in smoothly, and Hermione didn't have to be facing him to imagine the pseudo-charming smile he'd adopted.

Hermione walked slowly down the last three steps, examining her letter and ignoring the ministry wizard as much as humanly possible- Which he clearly wouldn't allow.

"Italy, Miss Granger; Quite impressive. Quite a bit further than Blackpool."

Hermione turned to face him as he stepped down off the stairs and into the main foyer. The crowd of patients in the waiting room went unnoticed by the pair, the rushing of healers and nursing staff made no impression. Emmanuel's steely grey eyes gleamed down at Hermione, teeming with unmistakable traces of satisfaction.

_Fuck. _

Hermione looked down at the suddenly incriminating letter. Did he think she knew? Did he assume she was ready to flee the country like Kingsly had suggested, like he had just now warned against. Did he imagine he had caught her out?

_Say something you moron, anything. _

Hermione floundered, her mouth opening then closing again, her voice seemingly useless.

"Well I'll leave you to your letter, It must be a matter of some urgency, An Overnight-express from Italy wouldn't come cheap. I'm sure we'll have another chance to catch up, _quite soon_."

And with that he simply stalked off, leaving Hermione still spluttering, still silently cursing herself and the thrice-cursed letter. Feeling the oncoming vestiges of a splitting tension headache, and tired to the bones, Hermione made her way to the communal floo gate. She should probably floo to the Burrow, or get a hold of Kingsley and let them know the tanned blonde wizard had shown up with a bag of threats and an inclination to play dirty- but she was exhausted. A hastily penned note would have to do.

After she got home and ripped open the letter sitting slightly scrunched in her fist, of course.

Honestly, what were the Potion's publishers at '_A Posse Ad Esse'_ doing writing to her now?

* * *

Draco had been subdued when he finally decided to leave Severus in peace. He was a good dealer paler than normal and Severus was almost tempted to invite the boy to stay for another drink.

_Almost._

In the end he'd made do for standing and escorting him to the fireplace, handing over the pot of floo powder, and watching as his form spun through the green flames.

Standing alone at the hearth and placing the wooden box of powder back atop the fireplace, Severus let their entire conversation play back in his head once more. Where did Draco's interest in obtaining the plant spring? Leaning against the dark wood of the fireplace, Severus idly traced his hand over his old copy of _Advanced Potion Making. _Even as his thoughts fled far away, a small part of his mind realised he must have left it there on his return from the Burrow. Flicking it open, Severus absentmindedly looked the plant up in the index. Given it's second hand nature, the older edition still had some information on the root that the newer productions had censored. Even so, Severus didn't remember Slughorn covering it when he was a student. It was no wonder Draco was quick to wave off the serious effects as old wives tales. Yet another instance of how the censorship of darker magic inevitably leads to ignorance and faulty decisions. History only lived to repeat itself.

Letting his long fingers trail the list of ingredients, Severus made to flick to the specified pages when he paused, brows drawing in confusion. Abandoning the reference list, he let the book fall open in his palm and noted, for the first time since returning from the Burrow, the wad of notes folded next to the instructions for the _Excito Animatum_ potion.

This time, he recognised the handwriting immediately.

Severus thrust the book aside and sunk once more into the chair by the fire before all but devouring her notes. It looked like a virtually complete draft- an untested formula, complete with references and notations.

What's more, it looked like utterly unique research.

Severus' mouth hung open as he raced through the various mental calculations and attempted to make the potion out.

_Memories._

Granger had been researching the restoration of memories.

_It was brilliant. Completely and utterly brilliant. _

Severus read them a full six times before any pangs of guilt made their way through his focus.

This wasn't his research. This was Granger's. If he worked off this, as he was so dearly tempted, even if he just quickly nipped into his lab to run a few basic experiments, he'd be the world's largest hypocrite.

After all the grief he'd put her through too.

No. He should probably put it out of his sight. Fetch an owl and send it back to her, establish that he was the bigger person. That after abusing her so abominably to return his dingy old textbook, he could claim the moral high ground once more.

Then again, Severus had never been big on holding the moral high ground anyway.

_It's been here two days, clearly Granger hasn't missed it, or she'd have come hounding for it's return. She'd probably work off a duplicate rather than contact the likes of you for its return anyway. You can always run a few trials, test her basic hypothesis, and then return it. It's not like you have to return it right this minute._

Severus stalled, letting these traitorous thoughts trickle through his brain.

Then he made for his lab.

A few days of lab work wouldn't set the witch back all that much.

The moral high ground was over-rated.

* * *

Emmanuel sat in his darkened office, adding to the list of notes scattered upon his standardised black ministry desk. Even engrossed in his work and concentrating thus, the small grin of triumph never left his face. He was sure, without a single doubt, that Hermione Granger knew- that the law was a secret no longer. What's more is, he was certain, entirely and absolutely certain that she would try to run.

A challenge at last.

* * *

A/N: There we go! I've been busting to write this chapter for a while now, I hope there weren't too many of you who saw it coming, and more than anything you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think, you guys always make my day! :)


	23. Chapter 23 - Gryffindor Foolishness

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. There aren't enough apologies in the world. I doubt even David Tennant could apologise enough to make up for such an extended absence. Over two months really is unpardonable and the excuse of life getting in the way really doesn't go anywhere to cover it. A massive thank you to the two guest reviewers who asked if I was okay, and prompted my lazy, procrastinating arse into gear. Once again, I don't own the characters attributed to JKRowling's Harry Potter and I'm not making any money off my writing- namely because at the rate i'm going, i'd probably starve. Thanks to anyone still reading at this point and thank you all for your lovely reviews and commentary, keep it up, I love hearing your reflections, commentary and criticism._

* * *

**_What you risk reveals what you value._**

_Jeanette Winterson_

* * *

The high piercing alarm that issued from Arthur's wand that morning was nothing unusual for the Weasley household. The fact it sounded at 5.46am, however, was. Arthur grumbled and made his way out of bed, ignoring the tugging tendrils of sleep that attempted to lure him back in beneath the covers next to the still snoring Molly. Who on earth was muggle-baiting at such a ridiculous hour? Arthur had long ago configured an automatic charm to trigger every time his office was notified of a raid. Strictly speaking he wasn't required to be contactable outside office hours, but it was the only way he'd been able to catch the elusive muggle-baiters and reverse any artefacts long before they made their way into innocent muggle hands.

Dragging his feet and making his way through the draughty stairwell, Arthur groggily summoned his cloak and satchel to him, shuffling mindlessly to the hearth before remembering the tartan slippers still poking out beneath his robes. Only a few moments later, in a safe, unremarkable pair of dragonhide boots, Arthur stalked through the empty atrium of the Ministry, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. Even the swift elevator ride down to his office was devoid of the usual flurry of inter departmental office memos, and for once his automatic duck of the head to let them fly out before him was completely unnecessary.

Reaching his cramped battered office at the very end of the hall, Arthur bemusedly looked around, frowning. Perkins had long ago adopted the same alarm system as him. They'd reasoned that in the event of an emergency, if one missed their alarm, the other would be present. More so than that, the two men quickly realised even an unbearable early start could be improved with good company and hot coffee.

So where the devil was he?

Moving gingerly around the wooden desk that sat in the middle of the squashed room, Arthur looked around for the memo that had called him into the office. A plain piece of pink parchment was laid on top of the desk's normal clutter and Arthur knew before he'd even reached his hand towards it, that this was no ordinary raid missive. In place of the automatically printed raid address and information, there was instead a hastily written scrawl of ink, no more than a single line.

_Arthur, make your way to the floo office as soon as you can – Reg._

Standing stock still over his desk, Arthur let all the implications of the note trickle through his mind, tumbling and bumping into one another in a general mass of confusion. He could make neither heads nor tails of such an enigmatic summons, but rather than dwell on the slightly ominous overtones, or consider the situation he was running into, Arthur let almost fifty years of his Gryffindor nature take hold; he was in the elevator before he'd read the note twice over.

Clenching the note in a rather sweaty fist, Arthur waited agonizingly for the elevator to make its way down to the Department of Magical Transportation on level six. Arthur wasn't entirely sure what he'd say should someone ask what on earth he was doing on the wrong level at 6 o'clock in the morning, especially when the otherwise empty passageways would be filling up soon with the earliest of the early workers. He'd simply have to hope the question didn't crop up, he supposed. That or he'd pretend to be following up a report on the muggles new Elektrickity-Mail- E-mail as Hermione had explained. Puffing his chest out, Arthur grinned slightly at the empty elevator. He was well aware just how fast his colleagues at the ministry could run when he got on to the topic of muggle ingenuity. _Honestly, if only people weren't so afraid of what they didn't understand, they could afford to wait twenty to thirty minutes. They'd see just how interesting it all was, with the invisible tiny owls flying through wires from com-pewter to com-pewter. Alas- people will always be fools to ignorance._

The lift finally zoomed to a stop, arriving at the sixth floor with an echoing clang that rang out through the dimly lit corridor. Rushing past the doors of departments still firmly locked up, not to be opened for another few hours at least, Arthur was drawn to the one source of light spilling in at the far end of the corridor. Slowing down to creep silently closer to the slightly ajar door, Arthur concentrated on picking up any echoing sounds from within. Unable to hear anything, he moved closer still, all of his concentration on the shadow flitting back and forth past the open door, like a figure pacing the room.

Edging just a fraction further, Arthur was oblivious to the dark shape coming up behind him until it had forcefully pushed him aside into a narrow door way, an arm coming up to cover his mouth and a wand digging sinisterly into his side, forcing him into silent submission, his own wand pointing uselessly at the floor.

His heart thudding loudly in his throat, Arthur nearly missed the deep whisper at his ear.

"Don't let him see you. Get in here. Sorry Arthur."

The door behind them opened sharply and the two figures all but fell inside, Arthur struggling to stand straight when the now far less daunting figure released him, and firmly shut the door behind them.

"What the bloody he-"

"Shh! Sorry Arthur! Didn't realise the bastard would still be in there by the time you got in. Bloody lucky I got you actually." Arthur stared dumbstruck at the now rumpled figure of Reg Cattermole leaning against the door. He and Reg had always gotten along, but it wasn't until young Ronald had saved the man's wife that the two had formed a fast and steady friendship. Reg had been moved from Magical Maintenance to the Floo Network Authority shorty after the fall of the dark lord and the re-organisation of the ministry. The slight pay rise the move afforded had served as the Cattermole's only compensation.

"What bastard? And what's this about?" Arthur asked, holding up the slightly crumpled parchment. If Reg was taken aback by the sharp, no nonsense countenance Arthur once reserved for the twins alone, he showed no outward sign.

"They had me pulled in here this morning- must've been about 5am, the missus wasn't too happy let me tell you- but it was that Emmanuel lad. Now I don't know if you know him, but he's right up with Teddy Burges' lot- I also remember him, not many do of course, it seems a lifetime ago, but he was damn tight under that awful Umbridge woman. He did Mary's family tree. So I came in, never muttered a word, just set up the connections he wanted, then got working on a list he had. Floo connections to be watched; nothing unusual in that, mind. But it was a long list and it was damned early. So I had a squiz at the names registered with the Floo Ports. Yours was the bloody first Arthur. He was busy in a grate, so I sent off the memo and then left your grate till the end. I had to put the wards on it, Arthur, I couldn't leave it, but I thought I could at least give you some time mate."

Reg didn't pause for dramatics at any point in his tale; its delivery was forthright and earnest. Reg obviously didn't know what this was about, but his trust in Arthur must have been paramount if it had lead him to disobey, if circumspectly, the same man that had lead his wife to trial.

"It's okay reg. Thanks. Thanks a lot." Arthur words were brief, but he hoped the sentiment was understood. With a sharp nod exchanged between the pair, Arthur then gestured to the closed door, in the direction of the Floo Centre, still in use.

"Do you know who he's been calling?" Arthur inquired. He was not a betting man, but he'd put a good ten galleons this was all caught up in the Marriage Law.

_Which essentially means bad news, whichever way you look at it._

"First call he placed was with Teddy Burges. Which, well, you don't wake Theodore Burges up at 5am without a bloody good reason. Then there was a Steve Jouston; I know he's right up in the Auror department, not to mention deep in Teddy's pocket. I think I heard him mention Toni Lancemount, but I've no clue who that is."

"- She's on first bench in the Wizengamot. Moved up from Magical Law Enforcement during the shuffle."

"Bought out?" Reg showed no signs of surprise at Arthurs curt nod.

"No idea who he's on the line to now. He dismissed me about five minutes ago- cold as you like. After dragging me out of bed at 5 o'clock to boot."

"Thanks so much for this Reg."

The middle age wizards face faltered for a moment, his tanned lined face torn beneath his auburn moustache.

"I take it you know what all of this is about?" The man finally asked, with an air of someone reluctantly opening a can of worms.

"You'll find out soon enough mate, I'm not about to drag you into this mess. No way to repay a friend's favour."

The relief was palpable across the man's broad features, before the wrinkles about his eyes folded over once more, a grin lighting up the now carefree face.

"It always manages to hit your lot, doesn't it?"

Arthur's smile was bitter and plastic, but he hauled it onto his face all the same. As soon as Reg's back had left the room, the door slipping shut behind him, did he let the grimace fall. Glancing around the small side office, host to a dozen magical expanding filing cabinets and a couple of dodgy old desks, Arthur considered his next move.

They were being watched.

His family, and no doubt anyone else who could be of any aid to Hermione in the next week and a half.

Never mind moving her about the country without magic, sending warning messages, all communicating in general, was about to become virtually impossible. No doubt a consignment of the Magical Law Enforcement team would be allocated to monitoring the situation. The Wizengamot were probably now in the process of rushing the bill forward. Arthur frowned as he realised how much information he was missing. What about St Mungo's? When was all this due to happen?

_More importantly, who was the bastard on the floo to now? _

Arthur's good sense, which funnily enough had the shrill, unmistakable voice of Molly, all but shrieked in his good ear, down to his legs which seemed to be moving, creeping, of their own accord out of the small, safe office, where they were aided by his equally autonomous arms that silently opened the door and lead both his legs and person out into the empty corridor, towards the ajar Floo office door.

All of his Good Sense' shouts and warnings, prophecies of doom about what should happen if he were caught listening at the door, were now faded, washed out by the green flickering firelight that streamed onto the cold stone corridor floor. Arthur shut his good sense out all together and focused on the sounds of conversation within.

"…and you're absolutely sure Emanuel?" a faded voice floated from the direction of the green tinged flames, while the reply came in clear from the pacing shadow flitting across the floor.

"Absolutely Mr Burges. The M.L.E forces will be assigned this morning, Toni Lancemount is getting things moving within the council chambers as we speak. I've got two of my men heading to St Mungo's now. She has a habit of heading into work early apparently."

"Apparently? Dammit MacDougal, I'm not moving this entire operation on the basis of 'apparently'. You promised me 100% accuracy. Contact Macy in Wizengamot Administration Services; get her to compile a memo on any files pulled by, for or concerning the Granger girl. Now. I'll be in my office shortly, you can reach me there."

Arthur held his breath and pressed further against the corridor wall as the green glow quickly shuttered out from within. Straining to listen to the movements within, Arthur prayed to Merlin's entire wardrobe, unmentionable and not, that the man didn't venture out of the office now.

There was a rustle of papers and the sound of something flying across the room, and Arthur's heart stopped, only to quickly flush back to life as green light flooded the chamber once more.

"Macy. Darling, I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you; you've brightened up this ungodly hour. No, no, I call on business, I'm afraid to say. Teddy's got my balls in a vice love, I absolutely need your help on this one, I'm lost without you gorgeous."

Arthur nearly gagged at the giggle that rang through the room.

"I need all the files that've been pulled on a Miss Hermione Granger." Arthur couldn't make out the interrupting cry from the hearth, it's high pitch muffled by the flames.

"Yes, the one with that hair, just so. I know love. Some girls don't put in the slightest effort; she could use a tip or two from you darl. It's a matter of some security mind, I'm sure anyone else'd be torn to trust even you with it, but I know you're just the woman to turn to with a matter like this."

Arthur stood silently listening at the door and knew two things to be true. One, If he were ever to utter such nonsense to Molly, he'd find himself on the receiving end of either a slap or a gale of laughter, and two, if any of his boys, even Ron in his current circumstances, heard Hermione referred to as such, their fists would be bloody before their wands were ever thought of. Arthur's own hands had curled into fists, his skin stretched taut about his knuckles and just the ringing of good sense in his ears holding him in line.

Just as Arthur had recovered from one near miss, he silently rose his wand and performed what he hoped to would serve to be a proficient Disillusionment Charm. Before his wand arm had even swung back to his side, an enchanted memo swept over his shoulder, pushing the door further ajar as it flew into the room.

_I've not got any more Garments of Merlin to thank for that timing._

More insincere words of flattery were uttered from within before the floo call was quickly terminated and the sounds of shuffling paper echoed from the room. Arthur was bathed in Green light once more as a new call was established. Waiting as he was, to hear Emanuel's sycophantic tones once more, Arthur jumped at the agitated bark now issued at the hearth.

"Finkle! Finkle, do you have any idea what a Purple flag is? Do you have any idea what someone, who is competent at his job, is supposed to do if a file is pulled on someone sporting a purple flag? Do you? Well obviously not. Obviously Wilfred Finkle is too much of a decrepit waste of space to withhold all files concerning persons with a flagged record! A potions patent was pulled on the Distilment of Murtlap Essence, a patent lodged by a Miss Hermione Granger. I have a statement from the Wizengamot admin that states the file was taken out for a standard 60-minute viewing. Who inquired about the patent?"

Arthur could've chuckled at the hearty response that rang out of the fire, free of fear or remorse in absolutely any sense. Arthur could remember Wilfred Finkle from his first year out of Hogwarts, the man had to be the oldest Ministry official left, and if not, certainly the one who'd lasted here the longest. The man was an oddity, there was no doubt about it, and he'd turned down more than one lucrative retirement plan in favour of his small dingy office and it's carefully penned administrative rulebook. He was a bit of a ministry gem stone and Arthur was quite sure that the man had probably weathered the recent political upheaval as a mountain of old would whether a flood; with little bother at all.

"Oh yes quite right, standard file access, all above board. Can't remember the chap's name for the life of me."

"Well pull out the paperwork you useless bloody battle-axe!" Arthur could palpably feel the man's rage through a foot of stone, but Wilfred obviously missed it.

"There was none. No call for it, given the circumstances. That's efficiency for you mind, everything ran smoothly as you like, he was a pleasant enough bloke too, once we had the particulars right."

Molly would have shuddered at the dressing down the young man issued from his place before the hearth; not even Fred and George, arriving back from their second year with a Hogwarts toilet seat had earned such censure, nor amassed as many insults.

It was only with an echoing bang that put out the growing green hearth that the blonde man's ire ended, and Arthur tensed, ready to press himself against the wall once more, only for the steady glow to return once more.

"Mr Burges. I've spoken to Macy sir, one of Miss Granger's patents was examined only yesterday. That incompetent fool Finkle doesn't have a record of the visitor, no form was filled out, and he can't remember a name. But it coincides with the letter sir, it's too much of a coincidence. There's someone else showing an interest in the girls work, and by now she'd have to be aware of it. Either she's contacting abroad in total ignorance of the proposed law, or she's already begun preparations to escape it. The fact is sir, Hermione Granger is not going to make this easy for us, and the longer we wait, the more time she has."

There was a long lull on the other side of the door, and Arthur's heart had perched itself in his mouth, awaiting the outcome.

"We'll bring it forward. I want you in St Mungo's, Emanuel. There's no reason the girl can't be made to see sense, one way or the other. Make sure she's aware of all the… repercussions that await her. I have confidence in your ability to… bend her, to a more appropriate path."

"Yes Sir."

Arthur didn't wait for the path to lose it's pale green hue, he didn't stay to track the movement on the other side of the room. He was up the corridor and into the lift, now devoid of the hastily cast disillusionment charm, before the door handle had so much as turned.

He needed to get word to Hermione before she left for work.

He needed to warn Kingsly before he attempted to use the Floo.

And he needed to devote a horrendously extravagant human sacrifice to each and every last individual item of Merlin's sacred wardrobe.

* * *

It was a drowsy transition that delivered Hermione to the fledging new day. She could pin point nothing in the dark cosy bedroom at Grimauld Place that brought her suddenly into consciousness, and yet where one moment she was sound asleep, she now lay starring up at the soft canopy of the bed above. The trickles of dawn light dripped through curtains small cracks and pooled on to the dusty worn carpet.

Unlike the previous morning, no battery of memories laid siege, hidden amongst the rumpled bedding. No armies of doubt sought to plague her early morning moments and any onslaught of guilt was held at bay by the deep pillows around her. Hermione knew she was lying in her best friends spare room, while her spurned now-ex-boyfriend lay injured in the very same hospital that housed a dozen or so ministry drones all working towards a means of forcing the 'free populace' into a carefully controlled and medically monitored breeding regime. Admittedly, most of the drones were only mildly bothersome at best, but there was still one who could pose a powerful threat.

No, Hermione knew all of this, but rather than have the full brunt of her current realities crash down upon her, she awoke into a state of calm acceptance.

These were all just facts. They were the straightforward parameters of her current problem, and she would calmly and rationally work through them. Starting with getting out of bed and getting some coffee into her. It was unreasonably early to be up, and Hermione worried her lip as she contemplated the risk of waking Harry and Ginny up, before remembering Ginny had grown up with Fred and George wreaking havoc in the house, and Harry had to be up in an hour for Auror training anyhow. Pulling a tatty woollen jumper from the bedside table over her mussed curls and over her muggle pyjamas, Hermione quietly made her way into the kitchen of Grimauld Place.

After all, it couldn't do any harm to get to work a bit early.

* * *

_There we go, I know it wasn't a particularly long update, but I had a bit of trouble getting this chapter to be believable and in character. Let me know what you think, and feel free to abuse me abominably for the late late late late laaate bloody update. I'm going to do my damnedest to keep the updates as close to weekly as I possibly can from this point, and once again I'm so so sorry! _


	24. Chapter 24 - Warnings

Note: Did you know that JK Rowling wrote and owns the intellectual property that is the Harry Potter universe? Well now you do.

Okay so this is a very short chapter and I almost feel terrible about posting it. Almost.

* * *

_You are doomed to make choices. This is life's greatest paradox._

_**Wayne Dyer** _

* * *

When Kingsley had been shunted off into a desk job, he'd foolishly imagined traipsing home after the sunrise would become a thing of the past. Six months of deskwork in the Auror offices, however, had quickly disabused him of that notion. Funnily enough, during his years of mentally and physically draining Auror training, the possible career path that involved sitting behind a mountain of paper work, tracking down the assets and lubricated funds of the stuffy pure-blood and now incarcerated nobility, had never actually been pointed out to him. It wasn't on the brochure when he'd picked his newts. Somehow the dingy, cramped office he'd spent the last 10 hours in had never been included on tours of the Auror faculty.

For one good reason he presumed; technically his position didn't exist.

Burges and his lot had shackled him to a desk as an independent over-seer in the back offices of the Wizengamot Administration Services, along with three of his best, and more importantly, loyal, Auror companions. Technically speaking the Auror office had no business hunting down dodgy accountants or chasing paper trails, but seeing as the Wizengamot Admin was collectively incapable of finding their arses with a map, Kingsley and his men had been diverted for the cause. Because what, in a time where dangerous ex-death eaters still roamed Britain along with scores of witches and wizards chasing down their own personal vendettas, could possibly be more important to the ministry than hunting down the now illusive seized assets of the once magnificent Malfoy estate?

Whether his position was unprecedented or not was largely immaterial, Kingsley knew it was unavoidable. He had neither the assets of inclination to draw political support in the same manner as Theodore Burges, and any attempt at ethical reasoning was lost with a cabinet as bought out as the current Wizengamot. Kingsley feared that any hope he had for his current government, any belief he once fostered in its eventual redemption had been damaged beyond repair. Albus had always laughed aside Kingsley's cynicism, his damnable eyes twinkling as he claimed those best suited to leadership were exactly those who would never seek out the position. Of course, Albus hadn't been around to see Kingsley flounder under the weight of his title, and a small part of him was grateful the great man hadn't witnessed his failure. Kingsley was not a man of great ideals, of grand illusions about the possibilities the ministry had for change. The place would always be rotten at its core, good people sucked in and chewed out, while the machine of so called justice continued to limp along the best it could, always a pace or two behind those morally uninhibited.

Sighing, Kingsley wearily rubbed his eyes and continued up the dreary London path. He'd kept on the small muggle flat he'd bought while acting as the muggle prime ministers personal assistant cum bodyguard. The place had no real market value, perched as it was behind a discount chemist warehouse and next to a blatantly dubious massage parlour, but he'd never been bothered, during the turmoil of the following war to go off flat hunting. Now the point was rather moot, he'd gotten used to the place, at least during the few and far between paltry hours he got to spend there.

Walking up the creaky wooden stairs in the dim landing, Kingsley was brought to a halt at the large tawny barn owl perched asleep on the top of the railing, directly before his front door.

He'd have to obliviate his neighbour Mrs Dawkins.

Again.

Nudging the bird slightly into wakefulness, he allowed the docile owl to perch on his worn travelling coat before fumbling through his pocket for his keys. Letting himself into a modest living room, he collapsed into a worn, beaten up armchair before detaching the small note tied to the owl's leg.

_Kingsley:_

_I don't know if the tanned blonde wizard you mentioned would happen to go by the name Emmanuel, but my luck at the moment and the basic workings of the universe are enough to convince me that he does. He was waiting for me tonight at St Mungo's, waiting with Ron as it happens. I think he knows- that is, he could definitely tell there was nothing between Ron and I. This is all coming out muddled, it's late and I'm absolutely knackered, to use the Weasley saying. I think he can tell, well, that he suspects I know about the law, and that I have no intentions of adhering to it. I don't know if it's my nerves, or if I was reading too much into it, but for a friendly chat there was more than one veiled threat and hidden allusion. He didn't say anything outright though, and other than that yesterday went well. I've only got one lot of files left to go through, so I should get that lot done tomorrow. _

_Can we meet up tomorrow night?_

_Hermione. _

Bugger.

Bugger shitting arse head and hole.

Kingsly leapt from the armchair, examining the note as if looking for some invisible mark, some telling sign that would answer his remaining questions. His Auror training kicked in before second thought had a chance of catching up, and he waved his now drawn wand over the note. It had been written at least nine hours ago, possibly more. Glancing at the dented watch upon his wrist, Kingsley's frown grew deeper. He needed to talk to Hermione, find out exactly what was said- he needed to warn Arthur, get him to keep an eye on the ministry before he went to work.

Glancing at his watch once more, Kingsly weighed up the timing involved.

Hermione wasn't due in at St Mungo's until nine.

Arthur usually got into work at around eight thirty.

In short order, Kingsly had snapped his wand at the window, releasing the owl, lit the hearth and summoned an old cedar box off his desk, flinging the powder within to now glowing flames.

Briskly stepping into the green tinged grate, Kingsley sent a silent prayer to Merlin's favourite tea set.

* * *

A full breakfast looked wrong on the table. The orderly lines of toast, marshalled by pompous displays of spread and toppings, hemmed in by plates of Sausages and bacon, all glistening in their armour of oil and crisping. Breakfast had always been an operation of military precision in the Burrow, Molly standing commander in chief brandishing a spatula and wand in equal parts.

It had become a habit, a short order of motions she'd perfected over the last 20 years, one that she now found difficult to curb.

The breakfast stood camped on the empty table, the chairs around it the now deserted battle fields. What with Arthur at work early, Charlie back in Romania, Bill at Shell Cottage with the pregnant Fluer, Percy staying at dear Oliver's (finally), George still camping out above the Joke shop, rather than facing his once shared bedroom, Ron in St Mungo's and Ginny over in London, Molly found herself alone in the creaking empty house.

Pouring out a cup of tea from the now steeped pot, Molly determinedly switched on the wireless with a flick of her wand. A silent Burrow was simply unnatural. Perhaps she'd set about clearing out Ginny's room. It was very possible she'd be set up at Grimauld place for good.

A flash of green light from the hearth pulled Molly from her thoughts, as the head of Kingsly Shacklebolt came spinning into vision.

"Molly, is Arthur about?" Apparently the man had no time for frivolities like greetings.

"He got called into the Ministry early this morning, absurdly early."

The darkened face of Kingsly fell at her news, and Molly shrewd eyes narrowed. Something was up.

"Do you want to leave a message for him then?"

Molly could almost hear the man swallow deeply over the faint crackling flames.

"Not to worry, I'll reach him at work."

With that puzzling end to a far from clear conversation, Kingsley's image spun out of focus, leaving the grate empty and Molly alone with her thoughts once more.

* * *

Reg Cattermole sighed as the long list of parchment to his left glowed and emitted a faint ding. Moments later a folded piece of parchment appeared on the desk before him. Opening the pristine page, Reg gazed down at the immaculately printed transcript, knowing without checking the Grate address, exactly which watched fireplace it documented. Looking over at the smiling, faded photograph of Mary on his desk, he sighed once more, moving the parchment into his empty out tray, where it lingered for half a second before promptly disappearing in a puff of smoke.

At least he'd attempted to help.

* * *

Hermione couldn't remember ever sitting down and failing to become interested in a book. While at any other time a history of the Peruvian clan first accredited with animagus transformations in the Americas, would have captivated her immediately, this morning she found herself re-reading the same paragraph over and over.

Why was it only 7.47? How had the last hour and a bit gone so slowly? Surely it wouldn't be to out of character to leave for work now. Worrying on her bottom lip, Hermione weighed up her options before firmly closing the book and standing up from the low sofa of Grimauld place. Harry was still clanking around in the kitchen, groggily fumbling for his morning coffee and a bowl of cereal. Brushing down the back of her work robes, Hermione stuck her head in the kitchen door and smiled quietly at the mad, scruffy hair of her best friend.

"I'm off to work."

Hermione couldn't make out the mumble of his response, and only raised her eyes until Harry dutifully swallowed.

"You're early aren't you?"

"Lucy might be in early, I can ask a few more questions without any ministry morons about." Hermione quickly responded. The truth was she was sick of hanging about, thinking up half a dozen worse case scenarios surrounding the watched hospital.

"Have fun. Stay safe." Harry reminded her, seeming, as he often did, twice his age.

"If you get word from Kingsley, tell him to owl me at work."

Harry only nodded, his mouth full, before Hermione walked out of the room with a final smile. Not ten seconds after the front door had slam shut, a silver lynx sprang into the kitchen, diving through the wall and circling the kitchen table. Kingsley's deep voice rang through the room.

"Hermione, Stay where you are. Don't leave the house."

Harry was onto his feet before the Lynx' silver form had begun to fade, racing through the narrow hallway and wrenching the front door open.

Hermione was nowhere to be seen on the grey muggle square and Harry's calls rang uselessly down the empty street.

* * *

A/N See how I could almost feel bad about posting that? I hope there's a few of you left who don't hate me, please let me know what you thought :)


	25. Chapter 25 - Nerve

Disclaimer: The similarities between myself and JKR exist only in my gender, and my writings dabbling in her world. I am not she and she is not me and all I own is this laptop and the tiniest of OC's and plot lines.

Note: This chapter was nearly impossible to write and I wasn't sure where to split it but bear with me, I will get you down from this cliff...one way or another ;) Please continue to review, I simply love hearing what you guys think.

* * *

_Victory is always possible for the person who refuses to stop fighting._

**Napoleon Hill**

* * *

"I'm telling you we've got the little bitch now."

It always astounded Emmanuel that no matter which sector of the ministry he found himself working in, from the Admin Services to the Law Enforcement squad, there were always, _always,_ men like Duncan Arrows. The large dark haired wizard was one of the few men in Burges' operation completely and utterly devoid of his own private aims. At first Emmanuel had esteemed the man, admiring his ability to play his hand so close to his chest before he came to the somewhat disappointing realisation that the man was sporting five aces and a suit of jokers. He had no game, no goals, no secret agendas.

To sell your soul was inevitable on the road to personal success, to freely give your soul away was simply deplorable.

Which wasn't to say such men weren't useful. No, but even their undeniable necessity didn't negate the disgust they evoked in Emmanuel. If you must rip another person's world apart, if you must dominate over a mostly innocent public with neither pity nor remorse, at least do so for some great cause, such as personal gain or career advancement.

Brutality, to men like Duncan Arrows, was an end, not a means.

Emmanuel sighed and put such reflections aside, leaning heavily against the welcome witches' desk as he buried his face in his hand, rubbing his brows and gathering a somewhat shaky patience.

"This is not some Knockturn Alley witch were dealing with gentlemen, I don't think you completely comprehend what Hermione Granger means to me."

Emmanuel's voice was light and pleasant, and to the ignorant observer free of any threatening overtones. Needless to say, the brawny wizard in front of him, and the shorter stouter man to his left whose name Emmanuel had forgotten for the moment, froze immediately. One could reasonably assume they'd been hit by a particularly viscous jinx were it not for the look of sheer terror in their eyes.

Honestly, the men were ridiculous. They could at least wait until he got to the threatening part to wet themselves.

"Now, I want you to wait here for her, then escort her upstairs to the lab. I need a private audience with Miss Granger if I'm going to, well, _enhance her acquiescence_."

The two morons laughed along lewdly, a sure sign they'd failed to understand so much as half of what was said. There was, in their eyes at least, no difference between subtlety and innuendo. Losing his patience somewhat he abandoned all attempts at adult conversation and broke the orders down into directives even they couldn't fail to comprehend.

"You two. Wait by the floo station. Watch every grate and so help me Circe, if you tear your eyes away for even a second, they're not all that will be torn when I'm through with you, understood?"

"Yes Sir."

It was unfortunate that brutal men were only ever capable of responding to equally brutal words, but if far from eloquent threat were what it took to achieve his ends, Emmanuel could stoop to such levels.

Sighing once more Emmanuel turned away from the two fumbling oafs and made his way across to the hospitals stairwell. With his mind so flown ahead of him, far upstairs in the experimental potions wing where he could all but taste his impending victory, he failed to notice the healer standing a few metres away, grasping two muggle coffees as if they were lifelines and staring at him with a look torn between horror and disgust.

* * *

Hermione Granger had never particularly been a coffee person. Like most proud British subjects and Hogwarts alumni, she'd been born and bred on Tea and tea alone. It was only her time at St Mungo's that had set her on the path to progress from tea, to sickly fluffy cappuccinos and further along to steaming tall blacks.

To say it was a refined taste would be a lie; She'd become hooked on the cheap instant stuff served in the Hospital cafeteria, mostly on Lucy's insistence, before she'd branched out on her own and tried the far superior muggle café down the street from the magical hospital.

It was a wonder the place was as quiet as it was, located on a few metres from a designated apparition point. Indeed, the quality of the coffee and convenient location meant it was only the timidity of most wizards refusing to venture into the muggle world that kept it a little known secret. Hermione hadn't even brought Lucy here- although that was more out of her own selfish desires than any genuine belief that her friend wouldn't approve. It also meant she could enjoy a second, or sometimes even third cup of coffee free of any judgement; As far as Lucy was concerned the cheap cafeteria crap they shared each morning was her first for the day.

But above all, the place was her own private sanctuary. A five minute break each morning with a steaming cup of coffee not only rescued her from the Burrow; the tiny slot of alone time was also infinitely more preferably to apparating or flooing directly into the busy, over-crowded waiting room. More often than not any witch or wizard with just the faintest scrap of lime green material about their person were molested but a horde of impatient patients; Some of who had the nasty and unexpected habit of spouting flames, as Hermione had once learnt the hard way.

And so it was that Hermione briskly walked down the cool city street, draining the last dregs of her coffee before disappearing to the muggles around her through a perfectly unsuspecting dilapidated window display.

It really was curious what people could overlook. Muggles and Wizards alike; While any person sporting healer robes would be instantly beset upon on the far side of the waiting room, Hermione was able to travel through the street entrance entirely unprovoked. Just as she congratulated herself on evading the clamour of those around her, Hermione was forced to come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the foyer as the figure of Lucy violently shoved past her.

"Lucy?! Lucy are you okay?"

The blonde girl spin around with a vitriol that suggested Hermione was the one who'd gone out of her way to bump into her.

"What do you care? Run upstairs, Emmanuel's looking for you."

"What?" Hermione couldn't be anything but dumbfounded as she faced off the glaring young witch.

"Yeah, you heard me. I overheard him just now, on to his cronies about how much you 'meant to him', what is he? Getting you upstairs for a quick fuck before work?"

"What!? Lucy I don't know what you heard-"

"Save it Granger."

Hermione physically flinched at her friend's cold voice.

"I don't give a damn what you're doing or who you're doing it with, but I thought we were mates. I'm not interested in your lies. To think I told you I was interested in that git."

"I'm not lying! I have nothing to lie _about!_" Hermione's exasperation with the absurdity of the entire situation was clear in her voice, and it seemed to enrage Lucy even further.

"You're at work two hours early by happy coincidence then?" The girl fired off, her arms folded in front of her, her face still drawn into a scowl.

"I- I came in early to look over the Caligula research." Try as Hermione might to embed this answer with sincerity, it still sounded like a lie to her ears- namely because that's precisely what it was.

"The research locked in Sullivan's office? Under full security clearance?"

_Full security clearance?_

"I didn't realise the clearance had- I thought it would be with the other folders."

"You didn't know because it got moved last night, while _you_ left early. Probably to get in another fuck with your ministry bloke, I don't remember seeing him then either."

"Lucy! I told you I'm not fucking anybody!"

"Whatever. Your man's cronies are waiting in the floo chamber for you- ready to escort you upstairs, better not keep dear Emmanuel waiting."

Hermione's half stuttered reply was lost on the witches' retreating form, her denies swallowed by the growing din of the waiting room.

What the hell had just happened? Hermione's mind raced through the conversation, replaying her friend's furious words over. Emmanuel was upstairs waiting for her- his men waiting to escort her upstairs? Hermione had no idea what sort of conversation Lucy had overheard but it was perfectly plain that Emmanuel wasn't waiting upstairs for any 'quick fuck'.

They knew that she knew.

They knew she had no intentions of marriage and it was quite possible they knew of her various efforts in sabotaging their research.

She had to leave. Now.

So why on earth was she still rooted dumbly to the spot in the heaving. Busy waiting room?

… _the ones locked in Sullivan's office…under high security clearance…_

Whatever St Mungo's had found must be important; that or potentially damaging to the ministries cause.

Hermione knew the gut feeling staying her movement, keeping her grounded to the waiting room floor. She would never get another chance to look at that research. If she ran now, she'd never know just what was in that folder.

* * *

Where the hell was Perkins?

Stupid question. Perkins was at home, probably still in bed. Arthur had often wondered what it must be like to live the older wizards perfectly normal life.

Lovely wife. Lovely Daughter. A modest flat in Peckham. Nice. Quiet. Comfortable. No seven screaming kids, no ram shackled falling-down house, no Commander of a wife, no detention letters from Hogwarts every other afternoon, no Hogwarts toilet seat on his bog, no enchanted diary bewitching his daughter, no security measures or moral duty to protect the saviour of the Wizarding world, no life pledge to the Order of the Phoenix, no killer magical python attack, no family outings to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Suffice to say, Arthur could only faintly chalk up such comparisons to the 'grass being greener' and that entire ruck.

No; Perkins was at home with his wife in bed and Arthur had to find a way to get to Grimauld Place without using the floo or being seen, in order to warn his almost daughter-in-law that the Ministry of Magic was now after her.

And he had to do so without being absent from work and subsequently arousing suspicion. Which meant he needed Perkins to cover him in the event of any raids or random spot visits from higher up.

Arthur paced his tiny office assessing his options, while trying not to dwell on the many, _many_ things that could go horribly, horribly wrong.

Molly's ire, for instance, when she learnt their floo was being traced on account of Hermione efforts to avoid marrying their son.

That or, Kingsley flooing him and discussing what they knew of the law, or worse still Hermione sending a message and mentioning her subversive intentions; At this stage Arthur didn't want to imagine any such repercussions. Every possibly consequence he could think of paled in comparison to what might happen if Emmanuel reached Hermione before he could warn her.

Arthur resumed pacing the small floor space not yet dominated by filing cabinets or desks. Glancing once more at the clock, Arthur took a deep breath and ran through his options once more.

It was only Molly's voice in the back of his head that stopped him apparating straight to Grimauld Place now; consequences be damned,

* * *

It was amazing that after a full year of Auror training Harry returned to Grimauld Place completely out of breath from only a quick sprint down the road. If Ginny had been up and about and not still in bed she would have teased him mercilessly, but as it was, when Harry returned through the kitchen, clutching at the stitch in his side, it was only the disembodied head of Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for him, floating in the emerald embers.

"She's- I ran all the way down the street…she missed your patronus… She's gone."

The Crackling of the hearth burnt brighter for the slightest moment as Kingsley let loose a curse even Mundungus Fletcher would have blushed at.

"Have you heard from Arthur?" Kingsley questioned, quickly regaining his composure.

"What- No. What's happened?"

"Hermione didn't mention the ministry wizard asking her questions last night, then?" Kingsley's tone held no surprise and held nothing but resigned acceptance for the situation.

"What? So they know? But if she's gone in… we've got to go to St Mungo's! We can pull her out before-" Harry's outburst was neither resigned or accepting, and Kingsley was quick to shoot it down.

"If she's already in St Mungo's then barging through the front doors is hardly subtle. She still has a chance of leaving unnoticed if we get a message to her- a message, not a large scale rescue mission Harry."

"Send her another Patronus!" Harry's patience was wearing thin. How could he be expected to sit here while his best friend had put herself in danger? Why the bloody hell had Hermione gone into work without telling him?

"Harry, a Patronus doesn't simply find a person. You need a location. If it did magically zone in on a recipient communicating with you three during the war would have been a lot easier. Now if I send a Patronus smack bang in the middle of St Mungos, what do you think the odds of it reaching Hermione are? More so, when she's alone?"

"But-" Harry's protests fell short as he attempted to reign in his Auror training. He was not the same boy who'd rushed into the Ministry with a teenage gang on the back of Thestrals. There was a way around this. As Ginny said, there was a way around everything.

"Maybe she spoke to Arthur, Kingsley. Maybe she spoke to him when she got home, maybe he'll know what to do."

"I've already tried Flooing him. He's at work. He won't be able to leave work now without raising suspicion. Harry, if they suspect Hermione of running they're not above watching the Weasley's simply on the grounds of association. I've been in the Auror office long enough to know that."

"Well I could just pop in to see him, say I'm on the way to Auror training and-"

"And what makes you think you'll be able to then leave without raising alarm? You're Harry Potter, Hermione Granger is your best friend and equal part of the 'Golden Trio'. You popping in to see Arthur then leaving wouldn't be taken as exactly normal either."

"Why is he at work now anyway?" Harry huffed impatiently, trying desperately to consider a new option.

"Molly said he got called away on a raid."

"…_The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."_

"A raid."

* * *

Mrs Dodges had lived in Grimauld Place for nigh on 30 years, and the inexplicable sounds of a particularly decrepit Harley Davidson motor revving into life had plagued her since the first week. None of the other tenants owned a bike, or had relatives or visitors who rode one. Indeed, when she had knocked around asking, they'd turned her away with patronising smiles and assurances that, should they ever spot her phantom bike, they would let her know immediately. Her husband, now passed, had allowed her what he termed 'her little quirk' and had swiftly learnt that assurances it was 'probably next door's vacuum cleaner' were not well received.

Even after the noise disappeared completely from the square for a good thirteen years, the thought would pop into her head at random intervals, leaving her wondering, often late at night, whatever it was that had caused it and wherever it had gone. Her scream of surprised rage then when four years ago it returned one night completely and utterly inexplicably, had given the neighbours plenty of fodder in mocking her convictions. The return of the noise was short lived, and she hadn't heard it in a good three years, but she knew, without really knowing how, that there was some reasonable situation. She was not mad.

Sitting at her window, nursing her morning tea and the day's first cigarette Angela Dodge looked out at the peaceful square, still slumbering beneath the morning dew and free from the stream of passer-by's about to pass through. It was a testament to the timeless façade of London that looking down at the completely empty street, she could imagine sitting here twenty years ago with little difference an-

VROOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM

The tea clattered to the floor, dousing out her smoke as it went down. Angela flew to the window, the aches in her joints and pain in her hips forgotten, and saw emerging impossible from the gap between number 11 and number 13, a flying, black Harley Davidson complete with mangled sidecar.

She had screamed for her husband before she remembered his death five years ago. Pulling her dressing gown around her, she hobbled down her stairs making her way down the stairs.

She would make sure her neighbours saw this.

She would make sure someone saw it.

She couldn't be mad.

* * *

Perkins had just drained the last of his morning cup of coffee when a pink slip of parchment appeared before him. Sighing into the last dregs of his cup, he abandoned the rest of his breakfast and pursued the note.

"I'm off love. They've pulled a raid on a joint in London. Some idiot's fired up a flying motor cycle."

* * *

Let me know what you think: Even if that requires a lot of swearing and quite possibly a tone that could be regarded as threatening. I promise not to alert the authorities and I might even lend you a rope ladder or something, to help in your mountaineering efforts.


	26. Chapter 26 - Timing

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the computer which I spend more time procrastinating than actually writing and for that I apologise sincerely. JKR is my goddess and queen.

Note: It's been so long you might want to give the last chapter a read-through: I had to, that's how long it's been. My apologies

* * *

**You cannot afford to wait for perfect conditions. Goal setting is often a matter of balancing timing against available resources. Opportunities are easily lost while waiting for perfect conditions.**

Gary Ryan Blair

* * *

If Ginny had a galleon for every time an earth shattering explosion had woken her up, well, she wouldn't have gone to the Yule ball in second hand dress robes. She probably would have bought out Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes just to cease the endless experimentation denting The Burrow's walls and wrenching her into wakefulness each morning. Even before the emergence of the joke shop The Burrow had never been the most harmonious of locations, and it had been relief, as well as obvious excitement and joy, that had accompanied her relocation to Grimauld Place: Not only would she be with Harry, but the days of waking up with a curse on her tongue and the desire to strangle someone were far behind her.

Or so she thought.

Harry James Potter had a lot of explaining to do.

Traipsing downstairs with her wand aloft, Ginny crashed into the hall where the sight of a grim faced magical law enforcement officer, her somewhat dishevelled father and Harry, thankfully not in pyjamas like herself, momentarily quelled her ire.

"What on earth-"

The panicked looks of Harry and her father stopped her question abruptly- but thankfully not before the cheery ministry official sought to answer her.

"Mr Potter here has been mucking around with his Uncle's old motor bike. Got a bit of a fright when he fired it up. Apparently the thing can fly, it's gone straight through your window, miss." He chuckled here and looked over at harry in what could only be described as a star struck fashion.

"Who knew…" She said weakly, her shock at the situation lending credibility to her words.

"Well these things do happen." The wizard shrugged, still smiling benignly at the saviour of the Wizarding world, before looking down at his watch. "I'd better go check on Reynolds, he should be finished with that muggle woman by now."

Here her father clapped the weedy looking law enforcement wizard heartily on the shoulder. "I'll take down Mr Potter's account if you like, get everything wrapped up nice and quickly, yeah?"

On the few visit's Ginny had ever paid to her father at work, she'd never detected a great deal of respect paid to Arthur Weasley and his tiny ramshackle office, but evidently things had changed. The wizard looked measuredly from Harry and Ginny and back to her father again before nodding and setting off outside with nothing more than a brief 'Thanks Arthur'.

As soon as the front door had clicked shut, Ginny did an about turn, facing her father and boyfriend with her hands on hips and a raised eyebrow.

"Fancy that aye. Your uncle's bike magically enchanted all this time. Who'd have known?"

"Dear-"

"Ginny-"

"What on earth is going on?"

Just as Harry guiltily looked up and opened his mouth, there was a clatter in the kitchen. Ducking her head in through the door to her right she looked on bemusedly as Kingsley Shacklebolt emerged from her pantry.

There was a sigh behind her as Harry guided her into the kitchen, and her father shut the door behind them. Kingsly did his best to dust of his robes and then shook Arthurs hand before turning to look down at Ginny's fiery gaze.

"You'd better sit down."

* * *

The Sorting hat had been a surprise when Hermione arrived at Hogwarts. For some reason when reading the references among Hogwarts: a History, she'd imagined some sort of random selection, not dissimilar from the muggle idea of drawing names out of a hat. She'd imagined it was merely a traditional practice that had grown out of a far humbler time.

To say she was shocked to find herself arguing with a hat was an understatement; to find herself losing that argument- even more so.

It hadn't taken long when discovering the history of the four great houses to rule out all but Ravenclaw as her possible future homes. She was not driven enough to suit the emerald Slytherin, that had been immediately apparent. Gryffindor, while a noble house, didn't seem likely either; as a quiet child who'd retreated to the world of fiction and never made many friends, brave had never been an adjective that applied to her. She had admitted the possibility of Hufflepuff, she was not afraid to put in effort to her endeavours, and after all she might turn out to be rather mediocre when it came to magic. But those doubts aside, it had been Ravenclaw that seemed to sing to her. It was a perfectly rational, logical conclusion to come to.

A perfectly rational, logical conclusion the Sorting hat seemed to miss. At first she'd asked the Hat to repeat itself, then when sure she hadn't misheard, asked it to explain it's logic. When it replied with nothing more than a vague reference to how things would 'eventually come to be', Hermione found herself forgetting exactly where she stood.

All thoughts of standing out, of being a 'muggleborn' in a legendary castle filled with witches and wizards flew from her thoughts. She was no longer concerned with sitting on a dais before a crowd of quietly watching strangers, and had completely forgotten the row of older witches and wizards that would soon become her teachers.

She had told the hat blank face that it was wrong, paying no mind to the fact that as an 11-year-old girl on her first voyage to the magical world, she was obviously in no position to tell a hundred year old magical hat exactly where the fault in its logic lay.

The hat had only laughed.

"Awfully brave of you to point out my mistakes; a lot of nerve for an eleven-year-old, girl fresh out of the muggle world. But I'm afraid you'll find such daring unwelcome in the Ravenclaw house. No, wouldn't do to set a lion in amongst the crows. Better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione had later condoled herself with the knowledge the sorting hat was magically enchanted and hundreds of years old; but the memory still struck her with a grain of salt. How could a magic hat know her better than herself? In her initial year, while sharing a dormitory with the likes of Lavender and Parvati, while spending endless hours in the library to avoid the noisy, heaving common room, Hermione had still cast doubts on the Hat's decision. Surely as a Ravenclaw student she could have sat and studied in a quiet common room, made fast and sure friends with similar minded girls in her dormitory, and not lost points traipsing around the castle at night after her recklessly daft friends. The doubts had sprung up and continued all the way until the end of May.

No, she doubted a Ravenclaw would have abandoned her charms study (in fairness _a full week_ before the exams) in order to aid Harry and Ron on the third floor. Plummeting down the trap door, blasting apart the Devil's snare, serving Ron as a human chess piece, inching her way past an unconscious mountain troll and finally risking both of her friends' life in a deadly logic puzzle. Oh there was no denying Hermione was smart. But she would rather be a fiercely clever Gryffindor than a recklessly, foolish Ravenclaw. Some would argue it was a matter of semantics but Hermione finally understood the Sorting Hat's Logic.

She was a Lion

Perhaps an odd one.

Not one particularly emblematic of the rest to be sure, but still a lion.

And at that present moment Hermione was a lion that needed those files. There was no way she could walk away and save herself, not when she was partly responsible for the research the files contained. No, she was fighting this law whatever the cost. Gripping her wand tightly, she cast a silent notice-me-not charm upon herself, and carefully wound through the atrium and up to the third floor.

* * *

The Ministry of Magic had a strict dual-obliviation rule. Two casts per muggle onlooker, only when strictly necessary. There was to be a twenty-minute interval between these casts, and they required a supervising officer present as an eyewitness.

Reynolds had never had to cast it more than once. He'd always been bloody good with charms even if he did say so himself. Once he'd been a tad overzealous and the muggle he'd been working with had been left with just her name and address. These things happened.

But he'd never had to cast it twice.

That said, he'd never had to restrain an eighty-odd-year-old muggle woman in a nightgown either.

"What's the bloody hold up Reynolds?" His senior officer Sterling belted out, trotting down the stairs and over to the landing of number 13 Grimauld place.

"The charm sir, it's not worked."

Both wizards looked down at the little old lady between them.

"What are you on about son? Are you sure you cast it proper like?"

"I've never had a problem with it once sir, not in five years."

Sterling didn't look convinced. Drawing his fake muggle police badge from his pocket, he knelt down and brought the muggle woman back into consciousness.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" Her eyes were fuzzy as she woke, before settling into a startling clarity.

"The bike. Where's the bike."

Sterling shot an irritated glance at Reynolds here, clearly unimpressed at having to take up the task himself.

"Ma'am, I'm officer Sterling, I'm afraid to say you've been involved in a minor road accident, and you may be a tad confused. Now I want you to calm down, and tell me what happened here."

The woman's eyes drew into a fierce squint, it's ferocity amplified as all her other wrinkles joined the cause.

"I know what I saw. I've been telling this lot for years, and my Charlie mind you, and anyone who'd listen for that matter. I'm not mad. I know what I bloody saw. A flying motorbike. Flying mind you. I'm not mad and what's more is, it came out of nowhere. Out of the gap between 11 and 13. Oh if my husband Charlie had been here, how I'd make him admit it. Next doors bloody hoover, what a load of crock. A flying bike. A flying bike right out of a solid brick wall. I'm not mad I tell you. I seen it with me own eyes, love."

Reynolds looked on as his senior officer nodded sympathetically down at the old woman, before glancing at his watch. Reynolds looked down at his own. It had only been fifteen minutes since his last attempts at obliviation, but just as he made to warn his superior this, a shot of blue light hit the muggle woman.

"It'd only been fifteen minutes sir."

Sterling didn't look up from the old woman.

"Even if it doesn't take, there's no one who'd take her seriously anyway." Tucking away the cheap plastic police badge, Sterling rose to stand on the pavement once more.

"Don't wake her up. Put her inside, back in bed, and leave her. If she wakes up and remembers she'll think it's been a dream. If she wakes up and doesn't, well, even better."

Something still rankled with Reynolds and he stayed put.

"Sir, what if her memories gone completely?"

Sterling only shrugged here.

"She's not far from that stage of life anyway. Now get a move on, I want a cuppa before we head back to the office."

* * *

"Why on earth didn't you wake me?"

Harry had never seen Ginny so beside herself.

Kingsly and Arthur looked just as surprised at his girlfriend's vitriol.

"Dammit, I know I was a part of your trio and I know I didn't come on the run with you but Hermione is one of my best friends, she's the sister I never properly had. I don't want to be having a lie in while she's in trouble! Now. What are you planning to do to get her out of there."

"Uhh" Harry knew he should have kept his mouth shut as soon as he'd opened it. "We had to get Arthur here. We had no idea whether or not that Emmanuel chap was truly after her, we didn't want to rush into things headlong."

"But he is."

Arthur nodded at his daughter, looking particularly grim. They'd already heard his account of Reg Cattermole's warning, and the overheard plans of the Ministry.

"So now, it seems, is exactly the time to rush headlong into things."

Kingsley seemed just a troubled as Arthur, and Harry knew what was about to come next, the older man was going to urge caution and restrain in-

"We'll run a distraction-extraction job."

Oh.

Harry stared dumbfounded at the grim faced Auror. He'd just suggested one of the Ministry's own security tactics. More so than ever, he was glad to have the man by his side.

"How do we distract a place like St Mungo's?" Arthur asked, obviously not bothering with warnings of subtlety or restraint either. "Our George flooded the place with 50 odd swelling-jinx victims yesterday, still haven't told Molly mind you, and it wasn't even in the papers. Just bog standard, business as usual for the Healers."

Harry frowned at the mention of George's antics; he'd have to get the full story later he supposed. Ginny didn't seem particularly surprised, though Harry knew this was the first she'd heard of it too.

"We don't want to distract the Healers though do we?" Ginny stated, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We want to send the ministry lot scampering."

Harry fidgeted as suddenly the red headed witch shot him an appraising look.

"Dad, what did you say was the ministry's prime concern?"

Arthur looked from his daughter, to the somewhat confused Harry, with a dawning look of comprehension on his face.

" They wanted Hermione on side. Today, if possible. They're moving it forward."

Kingsly let out a long breath of exclamation, as he understood the subtext Harry was still unaware off.

"Well they're not getting her." He announced stubbornly to the room.

"But they want her today. They want her before they move it forward, and they're moving it forward because they need to be the ones to announce the law." Ginny paused here as the three wizards nodded.

"So what they really wouldn't appreciate it, would they, if St Mungo's was suddenly flooded with reporters."

Harry could have kissed her.

"How are we going to do that? I mean we know Luna but we don't really…" Harry trailed off here as Ginny, Arthur and Kingsly all looked at him appraisingly.

"'Harry Potter: the Chosen One, The Boy who Lived and defeater of the Dark Lord suffers vicious attack'. I think that headline's worth a trip to St Mungo's for."

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss her, or hex her. Sighing, he rubbed his scar absent-mindedly.

"So who's extracting?"

* * *

Hermione's ascent to the third floor was heart stopping. Twice, she froze on the spot as ministry officials looked straight in her direction, before shaking their heads affectedly, and continuing on their way. She would have risked a Disillusionment Charm rather than a notice-me-not, but the warding in St Mungo's actively diminished any concealing charm. Misplacing patients in a magical hospital was slightly more of an issue than in the muggle world. Given more time, Hermione could have altered the wards, but they were some of the most complicated existing magical signatures she'd encountered since Hogwarts; it was entirely likely that an attempt at modifying them would get her caught far quicker than simply manoeuvring around them. A notice-me-not charm was sufficiently harmless enough to slip under the wards' radar, however it was not fool proof. Hermione's assent up the staircase was marked by her determination to remain a completely unremarkable part of the crowd. Something increasingly difficult to do when people had been ordered to hunt you down specifically.

Luckily, most ministry officials weren't noted for their perceptive, intelligent brilliance.

Slowly, but steadily making her way across the threshold of the third floor corridor, Hermione had to make sure her progress was neither too slow nor to rushed, both of which would draw attention and diminish the charm's protection. Luckily the corridor was awash, as it always was, with the busy movement of patients, nurses and healers. Turning left into the Experimental potions department, Hermione was left alone in the corridor for the first time. Were anyone to walk in now, she would be immediately noticeable.

Keeping her breathing calm and consistent, Hermione let the adrenaline take hold of her. There were three doorways on this level. The first, to her right, was the small tea and locker room, it's door held open. Next, on her left side, were the double doors leading to her workspace and the department's laboratory. On the far right, the door furthest from where Hermione now stood, was Sullivan's office.

Naturally.

Hermione considered her next move. The double doors of the potion's lab were embedded with two small windows. They weren't opposite either the small tearoom, or Sullivan's office, but they looked out at the expanse of the entire hallway. She could either ditch the notice-me-not charm completely, and transfigure her appearance, or continue as she was down the corridor. Hermione felt her heart rate quicken as her mind raced. There was no time. Anyone who walked in now would be able to see her either way.

She would continue as she was. Steeling her nerves, Hermione continued down the corridor, her eyes fixed firmly on the double doors of the lab. That's where Emmanuel would be, surely. Maybe if she inched along the left-hand wall, she wouldn't be seen.

Taking a step to the right, Hermione paused as the sound of running echoed behind her.

Hermione didn't think. She lunged into the lunchroom on her right and pressed herself behind the still open door, struggling to hold her breath. There was a crashing sound as two- it sounded like two- figures crashed into the corridor where she'd stood just moments ago. Hermione's hand shook, clutching her wand fiercely, as two shadows passed by the wide open door. The thumping of the pair's running stopped, and Hermione was forced to cover her own mouth. The sound of heavy breathing alone drifted in from the outside corridor, until two sharp knocks turned into a somewhat desperate hammering on wood.

"Emmanuel! Emmanuel! Sir, downstairs, there's… Sir you've got to come downstairs."

Hermione could faintly hear what must have been the heavy lab door being opened. She strained to catch the slimy Ministry wizard's reply, but the low murmuring eluded her.

"Sir, the atrium. It's filled with reporters, sir. It's chaos, and the welcome witch says she's no idea why they're all there."

* * *

There was something to be said for a particularly well cast Bat Bogey Hex. It wasn't the most lethal of curses, but it was certainly the most volatile. Malfoy had been the first to showcase the interesting and some may say catastrophic effects of merging the relatively simple hex with any other spells. Ginny had, in the summer after her fourth year, helped Fred and George experiment the phenomenon. Unfortunately the results were entirely unpredictable; the outcome unique even when the same spells were used with the same timing on the same recipient. The twins had discarded the information as largely useless to the aim of production, but Ginny had loved the spontaneity of it all. The Bat Bogey Hex had become her favourite.

It still was if she was honest.

Looking down at the moaning, greyish figure spread out on the dusty carpet, Ginny decided her talent with the spell had remained in tact. Judging from the oozing clusters still shifting slowly across Harry's skin, Kingsley had probably used some sort of pus-centred hex.

"What did you use?" She asked casually, as though she was not looking down at her now unconscious boyfriend.

"Entomorphis."

Huh. Rolling Harry over, she noticed the sprouting of tiny hairs that sat rigid from his skin and clung to her hand. He didn't look too much like an insect, but that said, the spell was unpredictable.

"How do we get him to St Mungo's?" her dad asked, somehow still rolling with the surreal instances surrounding him.

Ginny looked down at Harry's distorted face, for the first time filled with apprehension.

"We'd have to make sure the reporters know what's going on." Ginny knew that just wheeling him into St Mungo's wouldn't be enough. Kingsley it seems had come to the same conclusion.

"Are those law enforcement wizards still out the front?"

Ginny dashed to the window, peering out through the curtains to the street below, where the younger of the two officials had just emerged from number 13, to join his superior.

"Yeah."

Kingsley levitated Harry's body from the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Call them in. Tell them it's a delayed hex from the bike, Arthur you say you were in the other room. You're not to act as a witness. Ginny." Here Kingsly looked at his watch, bemused. "First, try to be a _bit_ less casual when they come in, yes? Buy me around fifteen minutes between them alerting the ministry and then taking him into St Mungo's. That should be enough time for the press to arrive. God knows they're quick to get wind of every other bungled up Auror operation. I'm sure once the news leaks of an injured Harry Potter, they'll start popping up in droves. Send me a Patronus when Harry leaves here, and I'll do my best to extract Hermione."

Kingsly looked down at the still unconscious Harry.

"It's a shame. The boys at the Auror office will probably never let him live this down."

With that last comment and determined nod, Kingsley apparated with a faint pop, and her father smartly turned and marched upstairs in the other direction. Ginny spared a glance for the clock on the hallway wall, then let out a bloodcurdling scream the late Mrs. Black would've been proud of.

* * *

"What do you mean, reporters?"

There was no mistaking, that carefully concise voice, even muffled as it was through the thin corridor walls and open doorway. Hermione was torn between apprehension and relief. Thank god she hadn't walked past those laboratory doors. Please,_ please_, don't let them look into the tearoom.

"Reporters sir. Prophet, Irish Times, there's a bloke who seems French, even that nutter from The Quibbler's downstairs."

"What are they doing, what are they here for?"

Hermione's brow drew at the wizard's deadly tone. Was that simple ire at the interruption, or something more?

"They're just standing there, sir. Waiting. A new one pops up every few minutes."

Hermione jumped at the frustrated growl that rang through the corridor. Gripping her wand harder, she held her breath once more and pushed herself further against the wall.

"Why am I forced to deal with you idiots? Stay here. When the girl comes, restrain her until I return. Do not signal me in any way; do not come downstairs. Restrain her, and wait until I return, do you understand?"

The sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor once more.

_Please don't let him come in. Please don't let him come in. Please don't him come in._

Again, a shadow drifted across the threshold of the empty doorway, as the footsteps came to a halt.

"And I hope I don't need to remind you of what happens to people who let me down."

Hermione was lightheaded from holding her breath, but she stayed frozen until the shadow in front of her had stalked off, the corridor outside carrying away the sounds of his dramatic exit. She let out a shallow breath as she waited for the two remaining wizards to enter the laboratory once more.

And waited.

The corridor was silent.

"What a fucking arsehole."

"Who does the bastard think he is? God, she's a lab rat straight out of Hogwarts, I don't give a damn about no golden trio; it won't take two of us to restrain the little bitch."

"I doubt she'll even show up for a good hour. She doesn't start till bloody nine."

"Fuck this sideways. Coffee?"

Hermione had a split seconds warning before the two oafs sauntered into the room.

It was all she needed.

"Stupefy!"

The larger of the wizards went down with a sickening crunch. The other turn to face Hermione, drawing his wand as his did so.

"Pertrifi-"

"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!" Hermione's spells flew across the room; two jets of light merely a beat apart.

Looking down at the two wizards now comatose on the dirty tiled floor, Hermione glanced surreptitiously behind her down the empty corridor. She had to act quickly. There was no telling when Emmanuel could return. Magically binding the two wizards together, she levitated them to the corner of the room, behind a worn and faded leather lounge. Taking their wands from them and magically gagging them, Hermione swallowed down her panic. Attacking ministry wizards. Marriage Law or not, she was truly damned now. Taking a deep breath, Hermione determinedly walked to the doorway, checking around the corner to find the corridor just as empty and silent as it had been.

She gave no thought to the expanse of corridor behind her, no thought to the laboratory doors on her left. Hermione stalked quickly and quietly to the door of Sullivan's office. Unsurprisingly, Alohamora didn't work. Looking over her shoulder quickly; Hermione cast a quick silencing spell on the hallway.

"Bombarda". The whispered spell was more than enough to send the door skyrocketing away from it's hinges, wood splintering off and thoroughly coating everything in the small office, including Hermione.

_Shit. Should've used a shield charm, idiot._

Wiping faint traces of blood from her forehead, and plucking out a small shard of wood from her wrist, Hermione continued into the office. The desk was kept in the anal, orderly fashion that denoted a complete lack of use. Hermione recognized a few of the folders as the work done prior to the ministries monopolization of St Mungo's, but she couldn't see the file from yesterday.

_Perfect._

* * *

Ginny had never really used the whole waterworks routine. As a girl growing up it was made clear straight away that not only would her mum not fall for it, but her brothers would then take the mickey out of her for weeks. Being magically showered with tissues gets really old, really fast. By the time she got to Hogwarts, Ginny had other ways of getting what she wanted.

So she'd been a bit worried that the ministry wizards wouldn't fall for her hysterics. True, she'd been able to muster a few tears as the wizards magically alerted the Magical Law Enforcement squad. By the time they'd decided Harry wasn't going to come to, and it would be best to have him moved to St Mungo's, Ginny's face was a puffy, wet mass of blotchy red flesh.

"What? Moved to St Mungo's? You mean… is he going to be alright?"

God, Ginny hated herself in that moment. She collapsed into the shirt of the squad leader, Sterling she thought his name was, and concentrated on making her body shudder with the artificial sobs.

Either her performance was spot on, or the man wasn't used to comforting distraught women. His hands awkwardly came around to limply pat her on the back; all the while he muttered half-hearted assurances that everything would be all right. When Ginny merely took the opportunity to sob harder, the man let out disgruntled sigh.

"Reynolds why don't you take Miss Weasley into the kitchen and make her a nice cup of tea?"

Ginny wasn't going to make it that easy. She clung to the irate wizard and wailed even louder.

"It's okay Miss Weasley" The younger officer tried to assuage her. "Why don't you just sit down for a moment while we take Mr. Potter into-

Ginny's next howl put moaning myrtle to shame.

"But he hasn't got his things? You don't even know what's wrong!"

Ginny knew she had another ten minutes before she could let them leave for St Mungo's. God Hermione owed her for this. Abruptly detaching herself from the wizard's disgruntled arms, she clung to the seemingly lifeless form of Harry once more.

This was going to be the most painful ten minutes of her life.

* * *

Three more reporters had arrived in the waiting room, just as Emmanuel walked in. In the short walk from the stairs to the welcome witch, another pair had apparated into existence.

Curse the inept fools he was forced to work with, but they were right – they were just standing there, watching the floo stations and doorways as if waiting for something.

Emmanuel looked from the floo grates, to the reporters once more and frowned.

His entrance in the foyer had made absolutely no impact. In fact, the exit of his two buffoon assistants obviously hadn't moved them either.

Something didn't add up.

If, and it was a big if, the news of the ministries plans had leaked there would be uproar. Beyond uproar, there would be large-scale upheaval, and security would have arrived at St Mungo's immediately. No, whatever it was these reporters were here for, it had nothing to do with the marriage law, and nothing to do with him.

It was probably just a co-incidence.

Except Emmanuel didn't believe in co-incidences. Especially when the illusive Miss Granger had yet to turn up. Turning, Emmanuel retreated to the very back of the waiting room, leaning against the far wall.

Co-incidences were only co-incidences so long as there was missing data. Emmanuel was rather brilliant at collecting data.

* * *

Hermione didn't know why she still bothered with summoning charms. If the seemingly never-ending Horcrux hunt had taught her anything, it was that everything worth having was going to be guarded against a simple Accio. Wrenching open the top draw, Hermione determinedly set about ransacking the office. The drawers shared the same shallow, bureaucratic scarcity as the desktop. She had to wonder what the man had done to earn his position, since it obviously wasn't research. The two bottom drawers were just as empty.

Hermione spun to search the rest of the office, only to be faced with a liquor cabinet, leather sofa, and set of no-doubt magical filing cabinets. Making her way to the polished brass cabinet drawers, Hermione drew her wand. Tapping them sharply on the top-most drawer, she brought to mind the exact file she wanted.

The drawer sat stock-still, her gleaming reflection frowning back up at her. Letting out a frustrated breath, Hermione closed her eyes and felt her way towards the filing cabinet's wards. Hopefully, they weren't simply a standard set of magical filing cabinet. If she was very, very lucky, Sullivan had been cheap, and enchanted the things himself.

As Hermione's magic flowed through her wand and breached the first of the wards layers, she let out tight grin.

Thank the lord for that cheap bastard.

These wouldn't take more than a few minutes to breach. Assuming she had a few minutes of course. Hermione's grin disappeared as she put the full brunt of her concentration onto the task at hand.

After the third shriek, Arthur felt it was only prudent he make his way downstairs. After all, if he left it any longer, Sterling would send Reynolds up to fetch him. Not to mention that no one, _no one_, could have plausibly missed the racket his Ginervra was making.

"What's going on here?" Arthur's eyes zoomed to Harry's prone form on the floor, and then to Ginny, who pointedly looked from him to the clock on the hallway wall.

_You're going to have to work to draw this out._

"Oh, Arthur, thank god. It's Potter. The girl says, that is, your daughter says he was just standing here when he was struck down like this. Must be an aftershock from the bike, some sort of latent curse or hex."

Ginny took this opportunity to whimper hideously over Harry's form. Arthur thanked his lucky stars his daughter wasn't actually so insipid.

"Well I'll have to look the bike over before you take him in. Else there'll be nothing for the Healer's to work off." There was a pause here before Arthur thought to add- "it wouldn't do to have the saviour of the Wizarding world stuck like this because of something we missed now, would it?"

Arthur watched Sterling pale with considerable satisfaction. Ginny again let out a snivelling groan. Reynolds looked between the prone form of harry, the seemingly distraught Ginny and his pale commander before quietly piping up.

"I'll take the girl into the kitchen while you two take a look."

The blood had yet to return to Sterling's face as he nodded and led the way upstairs.

* * *

Kingsley had been admitted to St Mungo's over forty six times. Even amongst the Auror office it was an astoundingly high injury rate. His superiors had laughed it off when Kingsley somehow ended up the only injured party during 'semi-intense' training simulations. A blind eye was turned each time Kingsley was used as the distraction in an operation: when time after time he was left on the front line to hold up while his support team came in at the last minute. Just co-incidences. Every group needs a fall guy. If he only barely limped away from each Auror exercise, well it was a point to build on. Not an alarming negligence on whoever had been forced to partner up with him that week. That wasn't even counting what happened unofficially at the hands of his co-workers and 'brothers in arms'. Kingsley knew what was happening, even if his superiors chose to ignore it. But he kept his head down. He worked hard and soon became the best damn Auror in his squad- black or white.

He also met a score of pretty nurses and healers.

Every cloud had its silver lining.

He'd been about 28 when he'd started seeing Rebecca. She was the matron of the Spell Damage ward. One day after stoutly rolling up her sleeves and manually removing the shattered remains of a wand that had somehow embedded itself in his shoulder, she'd asked him out for dinner. Direct like, not a blush or falter. She'd taken his yelp of pain as she yanked the wood out as assent.

A hell of a woman.

Soon enough his trips to St Mungo's took on a whole new light. Particularly sneaking out from his bed when her shift ended; with more than a few stops and starts, they'd make their way to the storage-level-slash-morgue and out the emergency back door to Bec's modest apartment that lay a mere stone throw away.

It felt odd to be sneaking in, rather than out so many years later.

Kingsley had considered entering through the atrium and waiting for his chance, but he really couldn't afford to be seen. It wasn't merely his position in the ministry at stake; if his name was compromised, if he was suspected to be aiding Granger's rebellion, he'd be no further use to the girl- and he'd just begun to believe she could pull this thing off.

Making his way through the morgue, Kingsley discretely transfigured his robes to the trademark lime green of a Mungo's healer, before casting a notice-me-not charm and proceeding through the labyrinth of a storage area. If he remembered correctly – he was far older than he'd been back then- the stairs were on the right hand side and lead directly to the hospital's main stairwell.

He _should_ be able to make his way to the third floor before the Law Enforcement officers arrived with Harry. That gave him a short window of time to find Hermione, and get the both of them out as quickly as possible.

Kingsly climbed the stairs as quickly as the notice-me-not charm would allow, hoping beyond hope that Hermione was in fact on the third floor, and not already at the ministry.

* * *

Arthur felt a fool, making such a show of re-examining the completely harmless bike. He didn't want to look to closely in front of Sterling in any case; Most of the bikes later modifications would reveal his own magical signature. He was particularly fond of the synthesised dragon fire. Charlie had sent him letter after letter with helpful hints and titbits before Arthur had finally perfected the function.

After running his hands carefully along every seam and crevice of the bike, Arthur had proclaimed the hex must have been a recursive build-up. Given Sterling's blank look, the completely made up prognosis was enough to fool him.

"It won't go off again, but I can't analyse what the hex was." Arthur surreptitiously glanced at his watch. Kingsley would be in by now.

"Right. Well. We'd better get the lad to St Mungo's straight away." Sterling's voice was just hard enough to mask the tell tale waver of a man under immense pressure. Arthur merely nodded.

"I think you're right- as soon as possible."

* * *

There was barely standing room in the atrium. Pressed as he was so far down the back, Emanuel could no longer hear the Welcome Witch's cries of protest at the utter chaos. He could still spot her though, the only figure bothering to rush and flutter around amidst the crowd. None of the reporters so much as budged. Bewildered hospital patrons seemed content to sit and watch the on-goings. The room was still with mounting tension. Emmanuel wasn't sure what they were waiting for, but as the room filled beyond bursting, he was sure he was about to find out.

Indeed, as soon as he decided to shift to a better position, the uproar began. The room was filled with the pulsing of flashing cameras, and the din of competing cries and questions.

At first Emmanuel couldn't determine the source of the uproar, merely the chaos set off in a determinedly ripple-like effect. Climbing up on the seat next to him, Emmanuel spotted two harassed looking Law Enforcement officials, carrying a grey speckled thing between them, while a redheaded witch trailed behind them. It wasn't until the flash of a camera glinted off a pair of particularly recognisable round glasses that Emmanuel understood what he was looking at.

Potter, and the Weasley girl.

There were no such things as co-incidences. Emmanuel smiled at the spiralling media shit storm before simply turning in the other direction. If he was unlucky those oaf's had hold of Miss Granger. If was lucky, well, he'd have a chance to restrain her himself.

* * *

Hermione didn't know how to explain the faint clicking sensation that reverberated through her magic as the last layer of warding fell.

But she relished the feeling all the same.

She knew she was almost out of time. Surely someone would be arriving on the third floor by now. Bringing the thought of the files to the forefront of her mind, Hermione smoothly slid open the top-most drawer. Opening her eyes she looked down at the folder sitting innocently in the otherwise empty drawer.

She hoped it would be worth the risk. Grabbing it and slipping it into her bag, Hermione made her way to the doorway.

Just as she moved to edge out, the sound of footsteps rang out against the cold tiles. Her heart thumped in her chest, the blood in her veins made of a sludge now frozen and refusing to pump. Her stomach had somehow jumped to her throat as she tightly gripped her wand.

The footsteps came closer and Hermione bated her breath. The floor around doorway was still scattered with splintered wood, and drops of her own blood. There were two tied-up ministry officials, unconscious in the next room.

She was doomed.

Hermione considered her options. She had a five second window to utilise the element of surprise. After that, she'd have to duel her way out.

Lion or not, Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew duelling wasn't her strong suit. She needed another option.

The wards of St Mungo's, much like those of Hogwarts, prevented apparition.

The second's passed by, Hermione's window passing with them. She'd never make it to the end of the corridor.

_But perhaps she didn't need to._

Suddenly, Hermione remembered Sullivan storming into the research lab, followed by a stream of enchanted memos.

The floo station.

Hermione lunged out of the doorway at the very last second.

"EXPELIARMUS"

"STUPEFY"

Hermione's vision went black and the last thing she remembered was the floor speeding up to cradle her head.

* * *

A/N: I thought to myself, I'll be kind. The poor, poor people who still read this story have suffered enough. I was very, very close to landing you on stable ground far away from the threat of any cliffs. But then I thought, WWSMD? And so here we are. I would apologise profusely, but then, Moffat doesn't, and I promise the next chapter will be worth it.


	27. Chapter 27 - Debt

I am not JK Rowling and I own nothing.

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Note: I don't know how people usually react to being called rude, evil, sadistic and barbaric, but it absolutely made my day :3! Keep reviewing I love hearing from you all and heads up to Tara who once again provided the kick up the arse I needed to write this as soon as I got my assignments done. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

_**Debt, n. An ingenious substitute for the chain and whip of the slavedriver - **__Ambrose Bierce_

* * *

Ron had never coped well with debt. He'd never been able to sit comfortably with the idea of owing anyone anything. There were a few times it had come between him and Harry, and if he was completely honest with himself it had nothing to do with being poor. He simply couldn't bear the overwhelming feeling of being obliged, of being held under another person's power and expectations.

A feeling looming over him now as he looked glumly down at the patient discharge forms. If only the healer had kept her mouth shut. Ron didn't need to know about the numerous variations of magical fire and their different treatment methods. He'd never raised the question, never bothered to ask precisely what type of fire he'd summoned. He could have lived happily in ignorance pretending it was the benevolent blue bell fire all first years learnt to wield. He could have been left to assume it was an entirely average cooking flame like his mother produced under the stove each morning.

He never wanted to know it was a spontaneous form of darker magic, a fire embedded with emotional rage, a fire that, had it been launched with a wand, would have consumed far more than an old desk and a pile of notes. After all, Ron had seen fiendfyre first hand. He didn't need to know exactly how stupid he'd been.

No. Nor did he want to know how his hand had healed so quickly, so cleanly and perfectly from a wound that was by all rights irreparable. He could have signed the bloody form and made his way home. Maybe stopped off at Diagon Alley for a quick pint with George.

But the healer was alight with excitement. Apparently it wasn't often the Spell Damage floor got permission to trial experimental procedures. In fact, they were to be the first medical association in the world to use the newly refined concentration of Dittany on a patient.

Ron's arm itched. The seamless, new skin burned.

Not with pain but with guilt and obligation- the entire limb now heavy with debt.

"Here you are Mr. Weasley." Healer Payne bustled in through the wards main entrance, her robes upset and Ron's wand held aloft. "Sorry it took so long, you can't imagine the hullabaloo down stairs- I've not seen so many reporters since the fall of he who must not be named. That said, of course Harry Potter would be the one to draw them here, it only makes sense I suppose."

"Harry?" Ron sudden shout earned him several dirty glares from the neighbouring bedsits.

"Oh how stupid of me, of course, that is to say, you're _that_ Mr Weasley. Not that I forgot you, I must say my family and I are ever so grateful for what you did- well, no dear, Harry Potter was admitted by his girl friend and two law enforcement officers just now downstairs. Looked a sight I can tell you. I didn't get too close, what with all the press in the way but he had a deathly grey pallor about him."

If the stammering young healer noticed Ron's own blanching features, it didn't stem the tide of news now pouring unbidden from her lips.

"Wouldn't be too surprised if he was heading up here; Spell damage is the most likely. You're more than welcome to hang around and see him you know, given the circumstances and who's involved. I will need those forms though." She paused for breath, finally, and took up the patient discharge forms from the bedside table to the right.

"Dear you've missed a signature here."

By the time the healer's words had drifted through the haze of his thoughts, his arm, that traitorous, debt-heavy arm, had obliged the witch and parted with his signature.

Ron had never been good at much. He'd never told Harry or Hermione exactly how terrible his career adviser session with McGonagall had been. He'd never had a 'best' subject. His favourite subject was a tie between lunch and divination. When his head of house had merely looked at him, frowned slightly, and suggested a path outside the world of academia, all he could do was nod. It was pretty bloody obvious. The only thing he was bloody good at wasn't worth a damn. No one was going to hire you to play chess.

Oh, but he _was_ good. He'd beaten almost everyone in Gryffindor tower, he'd bested half the Order of the Phoenix at one time or other, and he'd even trumped Mad Eye Moody; an event accompanied by a fit of pique and sulking that made adolescent mandrakes look positively charming.

"What time is it?"

The healer started and looked down at Ron, her face filled with a concerned confusion.

"About half past eight dear. Are you alright?"

What the bloody hell was Harry doing in hospital half an hour before his Auror training even started? With Ginny trailing after him no less. If there was one thing his sister had set herself upon, it was to be known as Ginny Weasley- not Harry Potter's girlfriend.

Something was off. The skin of his hand tingled.

"I'm fine. Would it be alright if I had some breakfast before I left?"

The healers face split apart with relief.

"Of course dear, of course. I'll go fetch a nurse to bring you something. I'll take these forms with me and you're free to go whenever you please. Good bye Mr Weasley."

"Goodbye. And thanks." If Ron's thanks were stilted the nurse put it down to shock; shock that his best friend had been injured was natural of course.

Except his best friend probably hadn't been injured. There's no way Harry would face a media maelstrom unless he was on the verge of death, and how could that be unless some remaining rogue Deatheaters had trumped the evasive security of number 12 Grimauld place? If that was the case, how could Ginny escape with two largely useless law enforcement offices in tow?

Ron idly traced the faultless skin of his left hand and forearm. Each hair was growing exactly as it had; the lines and freckles seemed to have been there always. Ron knew the itching was in his mind. He'd been perfectly fine before the healer had opened her mouth. Now the arm felt abuzz with energy, the restless manifestation of an un-payable burden.

How could you scratch a non-existent itch? Well, how the bloody hell could you ignore it.

Ron heaved himself from the low bed and shrugged on his cloak over the hospital robes. Something wasn't sitting right and for once he didn't think breakfast would help. He'd have to go downstairs and see Harry.

* * *

Ginny felt terrible. Truly and utterly terrible- that poor, poor welcome witch.

She wasn't coping at all. Hemmed in by a living wall of camera flashes and disembodied shouts, she was coming to pieces. No matter how hard she clung to the platform, or screamed down at the two law enforcement officers, control of the situation eluded her.

Granted, Ginny could have sorted the mess out with a few choice hexes and an overwhelming silencing charm, but ultimately that would prove counterproductive. Awful as she felt for the poor woman, things were going perfectly.

They'd been in the atrium for about five minutes. She'd sent her patronus off to Kingsley right before they'd entered, the enforcement wizards oblivious to the giant silver horse flying past them in a way only ministry wizards can be. Kingsly should be on his way which meant Ginny had to try to buy them as much time as possible.

Even if it was in front of about a hundred photographers and she'd never shake the title of 'Harry Potter's girlfriend.'

Hermione was going to pay for this. Ginny hadn't decided if she'd exact her revenge in Quidditch lessons or shopping trips. Leaning and wailing over Harry's hovering body, Ginny pondered which her friend would hate more.

* * *

Ron didn't know why he'd stopped on the third floor landing. Standing at the top of the stairwell he'd simply stared at the double doors of the wards entrance with a terrible nagging feeling creeping up his spine, his left arm hanging aflame by his side.

Maybe he should nip in and see Hermione. Let her know Harry was downstairs and injured. In fact, Ron frowned as he remembered her lightening visit yesterday. There was no denying how strange she'd acted at the mere sight of Emmanuel. Granted the bloke worked for the ministry but that wasn't a crime in itself. His father and brother worked there and they weren't evil geniuses or what have you. The woman was paranoid.

Still. He could go in and let her know about Harry. After all- he owed her a debt. His arm itched at the though. He owed her, and he said he'd forgiven her, and he'd accepted that they weren't together.

Ron didn't have the words.

Hiya Mione. Hermione. Sorry. Harry's downstairs and he's apparently grey and dying and apparently Ginny's sobbing by his side releasing her inner Lavender. None of it makes sense and my arm is itching when it shouldn't itch because it can't itch because it's your cure and you're perfect in every bloody way but you can't love me.

He didn't have the words- just a burning, tingling sensation that he might never be rid of; a feeling he knew he'd no right to have that he simply couldn't get rid off.

No. He would go downstairs and find Harry. Hermione didn't need him or his words. That had been made abundantly clear.

Ignoring its growing itch, Ron set his hand firmly on the stairwells bannister and spun around, smashing solidly into another figure and losing his footing on the stairs. Collapsing back onto the landing, Ron's back thudded heavily on the top stair, winding him and rendering him motionless. Staring up at the perfectly white ceiling, Ron focused on straining his head to see who'd laid him low. He could see no one on the stairs below and for the longest moment the only sound in the echoing stairwell was that of laboured breathing and the doors swinging shut behind him.

Picking himself up gingerly, Ron looked up to see a perfectly empty stair well. Rising to his knees, Ron turned to inspect the double doors behind him before the sound of running footsteps came up behind him. Twisting to face the stairwell, he came face to chest with another running figure and was sent flying backwards once more.

* * *

"_Rennervate_."

Hermione's head spun with the softly whispered words as the world came crashing back around her.

The corridor littered with wood and blood stretched out on the floor in front of her as her sense battled the onrush of sights smells and sounds.

Her hand was empty.

Someone had taken her wand off her.

Launching herself up from the floor and backwards against the corridor wall, Hermione struggled to take in the situation before she was promptly silenced and petrified.

"Hermione. Stop. It's me."

A disembodied voice floated through the corridor and like a curtain being pulled away, Kingsley stood forward, her wand held within his hand. With a wave, Hermione's movement was returned and her wand restored to her hand.

"Hurry, we have to make it down the corridor before someone comes." Kingsley never raised his voice and for all his tone he could have been discussing the weather. He had taken in the calamity of the corridor and seemed coiled with a calm determination.

"No." Hermione's voice was croaky as she turned away from the man. "This way."

Hermione lead the older wizard through the potions lab, mindless of the experiments they passed, desperate to reach the floo. Her grasp on her wand was firm but the grip she now held on her bag turned her knuckles white.

* * *

Ron was hazy as first a hand and then a looming figure emerged above him. His vision swam even as he took hold of the outstretched arm, lifting himself up off the ground, and finding his footing once more.

"Sorry mate." Ron huffed, as his vision focused on the tanned face and grey eyes of Emmanuel. "Shouldn't have spun around without watching where I was going."

The wizards face was a thin line and his eyes were cold orbs of glass. The cheery demeanour that had sat by Ron's bedside yesterday had disappeared and Ron was taken aback, for once speechless.

Then a large cheery grin emerged along with hearty belly laugh and Ron faltered. He must have been imagining things. The fall had taken the wind out of him.

"You're right mate, you're right, I was in a rush was all. Boss' got my balls in a vice. Have you been downstairs Ron? I don't mean to alarm you but I've just seen Harry- Harry Potter and I know you two are mates and to tell you the truth he doesn't look to good."

The tingling of Ron's arm was nearly painful in it's intensity as he smiled at the ministry wizard. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and for the oddest reason he was hyper aware of the double doors just a metre behind him.

Ron merely nodded.

"I was just thinking of telling Hermione."

Which was the exact opposite of what he'd been about to do.

Emmanuel's smile grew larger here, but was far from warm.

"I'll let her know for you, how about that? You'd better get downstairs while you still can. Give Mr Potter my best, won't you Ron?"

The hand now on Ron's back felt like iron- the gaze of Emmanuel behind him, like ice. Ron made his way down the stairs, the feeling on the back of his neck following him the entire way.

* * *

The green flames of the hearth lit the room with an eerie glow, the thick blinds at the windows blocking out the dreary morning light and bathing the room in shadows. Just as Hermione shoved Kingsley towards the floo, a crash echoed from the corridor behind them. Acting on instinct, the Auror stepped into the flames, attempting to pull Hermione behind him. With an arm wrapped protectively around her bag now filled with the stolen files, Hermione backed towards the grate, but she couldn't turn around.

Frozen fire filled her veins as her eyes stayed locked upon the windows of the laboratory doors. Kingsley's tugging behind her grew as the flames shot green sparks and the sound of running footsteps came closer and closer. She had to move. Had to turn around. He was at the window. The glint of ice-blond hair and grey eyes glared behind the glass. Hermione could feel the fire dancing up her leg as the doors crashed open. Behind her Kingsley's shout deafened her eardrum, and the ice in her blood ignited. Her wand exploded forth from her side, the shadowed table tops splintering in every direction, glass beakers and metal knives hurling into the darkened void until Hermione's vision was filled with a tumbling green fire, and all she could feel was Kingsley's grasp on the scruff of her neck.

Collapsing into the worn carpet of Grimauld Place, Hermione dropped her bag and wand. If a heaving sob escaped her, Kingsley made no comment.

* * *

The fourth floor shook as Ginny brought in cups of tea for the miraculously awakened Harry and the newly recovered Ron beside him. Healer Payne, who Ginny knew from having healed her brother, so recently, seemed irritated.

It seems the curse on dear Harry's uncle bike, was nothing more than a Bat Bogey Hex, mutated by age. If the healer's agitation had been at someone who hadn't saved the Wizarding world, Ginny was rather certain a swift lecture about wasting hospital time would have be issued. But as it was, Harry had simply nodded bashfully and agreed that 'these things do happen.'

The healer looked up from her stack of release forms as the windows of the hospital shook, and charts clattered to the floor from patient beds.

"What a day. I wonder what on earth that was." The healer's pinched face flew back to the forms as she signed the last one with a final flourish. "Well that's you free to go Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley, perhaps next time you might consider attempting a 'finite incantatum', no?"

Ginny smiled thinly at the Healer.

"Oh of course, how could it have slipped my mind? I was _so _worried you see, I couldn't _bear_ the thought of something happening to _my dear Harry_."

Harry barely contained his shudder as Ginny shot him her best Lavender Brown impression.

The sound of coughing erupted from a now faintly green and thoroughly sickened Ron. Ginny only shot him a sugary smile, daring him to comment. He might not be the smartest tool in the shed, but Ginny was proud that her brother had kept his foot firmly out of his mouth throughout Harry's examination. Either her brother had learnt some tact- unlikely- or he'd cottoned on that something much bigger was up.

As Ginny helped Harry out of the hospital bed and back into his robes behind the screen, Ron suggested Healer Payne go see what the disturbance had been about. She seemed only to eager to catch up on what was probably good gossip.

Inching her way around the changing screen, Ginny checked the ward before sending off a Patronus to Grimauld Place. If everything went well, which it never did, Kingsley and Hermione should be back. With bated breath, Ginny sat on the bed next to Harry, resting her head upon his shoulder. Ron popped his head behind the screen and opened his mouth, just as a tired, battered silver lynx erupted before them.

"Get to Grimauld Place as soon as you can. We'll need to move quickly."

* * *

Note: An ending is so terribly boring without a cliff hanger. *Sigh* Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think. I always have trouble writing Ron since he's my least favourite character.


	28. Chapter 28 - Hunt

**Disclaimer: If we assume that time is wibbly wobbly and then accept the possibility of reincarnation it becomes clear that I could have theoretically been/be JKR in a past/future life. At the moment however, I am not J K Rowling and I don't profit at all from these works.**

_Note: Massive Delays between chapters are at an end! My first semester ended last week and my final exam was yesterday meaning the next month and a half will be devoted to getting a considerable chunk of this story written. It's been so long so I'd like to thank any of you who have indeed stuck around and can still even remember this fic! _

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_You see I'm against hunting, in fact I'm a hunt saboteur. I go out the night before and shoot the fox._

**_Tim Vine_**

* * *

He hadn't meant to slap the nurse.

Honestly, the woman could stop blubbering about it though. He'd been jolted awake, it was an automatic reflex. She'd copped it quite well on the jaw really, only the merest trickle of blood.

Plus he was in a foul mood. Crying and wailing weren't going to garner an apology out of Emmanuel now.

The Granger bitch had got away.

The lab was in ruins, the corridor splintered with wood and scorch marks, Sullivan's office ransacked, his officers still tied up and unconscious in the ward's lunchroom. Nurses had been running up and down the stairs for the last five minutes trying to get a look in to the barred off ward with the magical law enforcement officers doing absolutely nothing to soothe the mayhem- running around instead like a flock of headless fucking chicken.

And this silly nurse was sobbing about a sodding slap. He'd half a mind to go over there and give her something to properly cry about, but taking in a deep breath, he let his rage seep below the surface.

Calm.

He was in control.

If he didn't get this situation in control now, he'd end up Obliviating half of St Mungo's and god know he didn't have time for that rubbish.

Not when he had a few hours at the most to catch onto Granger's trail. Beckoning over two of the more non-descript MLE officers, Emmanuel dusted down his robes and set a measured glance down the corridor.

"Orright, I want you two to separate your men. I want the stairs above and below this landing sealed off, tell the Mungo's lot to use the service stairs. I'll need a half dozen to remain on this ward, then I want you two to escort all hospital staff on this floor upstairs. Standard obliviation. They saw one of the more volatile potion experiments go astray. Spontaneous combustion. Nothing unusual. Understand?"

"Yes sir." With sharp nods, the two officers spun around and Emmanuel was left standing on the ward, his eyes glazed over until the room was quiet once more. Looking up, only six of the law enforcement squad remained, standing upright by the doors, awaiting orders.

Wasting no time, Emmanuel strode into the wards small lunch room, levitating the faded leather couch out of the way before forcibly awakening his men with a bang from his wand. Tied up as they were, their starts of alarm were almost comical. Almost. Not nearly as comical as their looks of terror once their eyes focused on Emmanuel.

"Gentlemen."

His voice was barely above a murmur- deep and devoid of any emotion.

"Sir- I can explain-"

"The mudblood bitch was-"

"It wasn't our fault sir-"

Emmanuel looked down at them, cocking his head as though thinking the situation through. He wasn't of course. There was no reprieve he could give these men. Pity. It was so difficult training new lackeys. He'd almost grown to tolerate them as well.

"You have three seconds to tell me exactly what happened."

Emmanuel nodded through the men's stammered tale of the witch hiding in the lunchroom before he went downstairs. His nodding stopped as the men skimmed over exactly how they came to enter the lunchroom when he'd specifically instructed them to wait in the lab. He barely contained his look of disgust as they told of being disarmed and neutralised.

Neutralised. Their words. As if they'd been facing a horde of vicious death eaters, not some slip of a witch hiding behind a door.

Emmanuel looked down at the wand in his hand, twisting it through his fingers, twirling it in front of the two men who sat dazed, following the movement with bated breath and looks of utter terror. The room was empty, the MLE officers outside silent. He let the tension grow steadily.

It was a shame really.

They were almost sure to scream.

Sighing, Emmanuel spun his wand into his hand with lightening speed, quickly stupefying his men once more. He didn't have the time for this now. After all- a career transfer to the newly reclaimed Azkaban would probably prove more painful than any quick round of Cruciatus. Even without the presence of Dementors, the place was bloody miserable.

Leaving the two morons on the ground, still tied up and slumped against each other, Emmanuel set down the corridor and properly examined the wreckage for the first time. Prodding aside the splintered remains of Sullivan's door, he lowered to his knees and ran his finger along the black lino of the corridor's floor.

His hand came up crimson with blood. Straining his eyes now, Emmanuel noticed the dark splotches of blood pooling beneath and even marking some of the larger splinters of wood. Drawing his wand, he siphoned off the congealed blood into a newly conjured flask, grinning all the while. Even the morons he worked with would be able to get a positive ID from blood left at a crime scene. Stoppering the vial and stowing it in the pocket of his coat, Emmanuel quickly ducked into Sullivan's office, heading straight for the filing cabinet at the end of the room. He'd placed the files there himself last night and he doubted the girl had been able to recover them. The warding meant only Sullivan and himself could recover the files, and he'd only included Sullivan to placate the whinging bastard. Brightest witch of her age or not, she wouldn't have had time to re-configure the warding.

Smirking, Emmanuel slid the drawer open, picturing the files in his minds eye. As the drawer clicked, he opened his eyes to a slate of blank metal. Slamming the drawer shut once more, he drew a shuddering breath. Calm.

He was calm. He was in control. The files swam in the darkness before him as he waited for the echoing click of the drawers lock. He exhaled haltingly as he opened his eyes once more.

Empty.

Stalking to the shattered doorway, Emmanuel stuck his head around the corner, beckoning one of the Law Enforcement officers over. Wasting no time on words he grabbed the fellow by the wrist and dragging him through the splinter-covered floor to the old brass filing cabinet. Setting the man's arm on the drawers handle, he instructed him to open.

As the officer shot him an alarmed look, the drawer pulled open beneath his hand, revealing a slew of ordinary department files. It shouldn't have opened at all. Slamming the drawer shut once more, Emmanuel set the officers hand upon the drawer again.

"Think about a file on Agrippa"

"What's Agrippa-"

"Just. Do. It."

As the drawer clicked and the young officer swung the drawer out smoothly, Emmanuel looked down at the almost tauntingly bare brass.

"Get out."

The lad didn't need telling twice, speeding out of the room and away from Emmanuel's presence without a second glance. It was only once the lad had cleared the threshold of the room that Emmanuel let out a sincere throaty chuckle, a grin springing to his face. She was good. She was better than good.

But then, so was he, and this had only just begun.

* * *

Reg was no stranger to great muggle expressions. His wife had bought him a book full of em, tired as she was of hearing his bungled up versions. Not that he thought 'the cat's pyjamas" or the "Bee's knees" made any sense to begin with, but he kept that to himself, and read the book to keep her happy. After all, the secret to domestic bliss was really just the matter of a happy wife. The book hadn't been too bad mind you, and there were certainly some moments in life that only a muggle maxim could capture.

Like how no good deed went unpunished.

Reg's heart had almost given out at the sight of Emmanuel striding through the floo office, his usually cheery grin gone in favour of a grim look of determination.

He'd found out he'd put Weasley's floo on the register as late as practically possible- no worse, he'd probably found out he tipped Arthur off about it. Or that he'd delayed reporting on the floo's activity. Why else would the man be here?

Reg anxiously watched on as the tanned wizard drew nearer and nearer. He didn't have time to nip into the outer office. They'd notice if he got up now. All he could do was sit there. No- he'd look busy, keep busy, keep his head down, maybe he wouldn't be noticed, maybe-

"Reginald Cattermole?"

Reg looked up from the paperwork in front of him, his face a mask of fear rather than outright guilt- his only consolation.

"Yes sir?"

"It was you who helped me this morning, wasn't it."

Reg couldn't help but hear the slightest trace of accusation in the man's quite monotone voice.

"Yes sir."

"Good man. There's only been one hit, I understand."

"Yes sir, I sent off the transcript to the Auror Offices sir."

He was overdoing it with the sirs. He sounded like an idiot. Sounded guilty. The man had to know. Emmanuel's eyebrow quirked up as waited for Reg to continue.

"It was gate 493, the Weasley Residence. The ex-minister Kingsly Shaklebolt, sir." Reg' voice had hollowed out and his stomach felt sick. After what this bastard had done to his wife, done to the Weasleys, and no doubt a load of other miserable sods, and he was helping him. How could he look Mary in the eyes?

But how could he lose his job? Not with little Ellie about to attend her first year at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, excellent." Emmanuel's smile was wide as ever, his eyes glinting as he continued. "I need you to place a wide-scope alert on two magical signatures. Just you, and you're to keep it to yourself mind. Here's the file on the first suspect, and I'll need you to extract the second signature from this." Reg set the standard manila ministry file on his desk and reached out to take the thin strip of card off Emanuel. Staring horrified down at the plain card, Reg recognised the single, murky dot for what it was, a blood sample. Struggling to contain his reaction and the sudden aversion to the card now heavy in his sweaty hand, Reg nodded once more and heard himself let out another 'yes sir'

"It's Cattermole, isn't it."

Reg's mouth went dry and he nodded again, not trusting his voice.

"I just want you to know, your co-operation is appreciated, and you will be rewarded for all your help. I'll see to it that you and your family are given every compensation for your troubles during service."

Reg really hoped his thoughts weren't plastered all over his face. He could probably get into a fair bit of trouble for telling this bastard to stick his compensation up his arse- even if it was through facial expressions alone. As it was it didn't much matter, Emanuel hadn't bothered sticking around to gauge Reg's reaction, and his form could be seen retreating across the offices, the light grey of his robes flickering as he made his exit.

Letting out a breath, that he hadn't realised he was holding, Reg glanced down at the file before him, flicking it open. Sure enough, with a sickening drop of his stomach, the face of former minister Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared before him. It was odd. Reg felt removed as he collected the blood sample and made his way to the department's small workstation. For some reason, none of this surprised him at all. He had the strangest feeling the events unfolding before him were not half-way finished, and that none of them would prove to be good.

* * *

"What does he want us to do with this lot?"

"Box it."

Without further ceremony Jeremy swept the precariously piled stacks of parchment and records off the desk, before flourishing his wand and floating them into a floating, newly conjured box. If there had been some system to the chaos of paper and carefully annotated notes, it was now long gone. Emmanuel had pulled him and Charlie out of Admin Services and given them 15 minutes to gather everything Ex-Minister Shacklebolt had been working on for the past two months- and by merlin, the man had been busy.

Jeremy didn't envy him a jot. The small office was the same dull brown colour throughout all the lower offices of the Ministry, and the room far too insiginificant to warrant a magical window. The only light emitted trickled down from the aged magical lamps on the walls faded panelling and the stacks of paper covering every surface deepened the clinging shadows of the room. Admin Services was bad enough, but the finances division- now that was a nightmare. He could only imagine the adjustment between hunting down deadly renegade death eaters and chasing down misplaced decimal points- and if what he could make out from the heavily revised files as he shoved them artlessly in the box, the old Malfoy estate had more than a few figures out of place.

"What do you reckon they'll do to em?"

Only three years working by the same desk as Charlie let him identify the responding grunt as that of confusion. The man was all robes and no neck, a predicament only emphasised by the stiff buzz cut and rather deplorable lexicon.

"I mean the seized Malfoy Estates."

The next grunt as accompanied with the collapse of the largest tower of notes as Charlie toppled it into the box for effect.

"Sell it off, it they can manage it, I reckon."

It was now Jeremy's turn to scoff.

"Who do you know with the gold to buy a fucking mansion?"

Charlie looked at him derisively here, holding up a fist full of parchment and letting them rain down from his fingers.

"More than one fucking mansion mate. As for who's got the gold? Not the malfoy's , that's for sure. If I get to sleep at night it's purely in the knowledge that somewhere, bunked up on a dirty cot and living in rags, Lucius Malfoy has to ration out the bog paper to wipe his arse with. Works better than dreamless sleep, I'm telling yeh."

Charles had always been charming- a real wordsworth.

"Now stop your useless wondering and help me shift this lot. He said he wanted them upstairs before he left and it'll take a good five minutes to haul this up to Teddy Burges' office."

* * *

Kreacher had just finished masters onion soup when they came.

Thud.

The walls shook, the ceilings creaked ominously and the crystal chandeliers clinked, teetering as tufts of dust rose up in the air. Kreacher knew how his mistresses portrait must be screeching in the house's dingy attic.

Thud.

"Nasty urchins! Besmirching the house of black- of Potter. What will master think." Kreacher's usual mutter had risen to a distressed growl. Paying no mind to the creaking of his knees, he carefully made his way out of the kitchen, soup ladle held high in the air and his faced pinched furiously.

Thud.

Standing in the hallway, the old elf could now make out the glow of magic pulsing at the door, or rather, slowly penetrating the wards of the ancient dwelling. Kreacher shook his head. What would master thing. The House of Black, had not been breached in two centuries. The wards was strong! Strong wards for a strong house! That's what Kreachers past master had said. The House of Black could never be breached!

Thud.

The Door slammed open and a horde of wizards ran through the still glowing light, wands held aloft until Kreacher was surrounded in the cramped hallway. What would Master think. Kreacher had let the House of Black be breached.

"It's just a house elf, search upstairs for Granger."

Kreacher was shoved to the ground as four of the men streamed past him, running up the stairs and infiltrating his master's house.

What would master think?

Mustering up the furious song of magic from the depths of his bones, and further, from the very foundations of the house he had been born to serve and protect, Kreacher let everything within him ring out- The men still pouring into the house froze as the waves of magic radiated out from the small elf. As the men toppled from the top of the stairs, the doors of the house slammed shut. The walls of the house rippled, as though infused with the old elf's rage. The House of Black could not be breached. What would master think?

Thud.

Kreacher tried to reach within once more as the front door smashed open and still more of the nasty wizards poured in to his master's house, but there was nothing left- the dull hum of magic faint and his old, old bones empty. Kreacher's last thought, as he crumpled to the dusty timber floor, was of what his Master could possible think of him. He had failed the noble house of Black.

* * *

**A/N:** Nothing says welcome back like a nice cliff hanger, right?


	29. Chapter 29 - Hell hath no fury

Disclaimer: Yep, you've caught me. I'm JKR. this is my latest opus that i have posted on the internet without editing or publishers for zero profit and under a pseudonym. Gosh you're clever aren't you. It ain't mine etc. etc. etc.

Note: I couldn't think of a chapter title and I couldn't decide between the two quotes, and to top it off I couldn't decide If id include at least half of this chapter. Today was just not a day of decisive clarity. So I hope you enjoy both quotes, all of the chapter and excuse a particularly uninspired chapter name. A/N: turns out one of my quotes was a bit crap so I've changed it and thanks to dragoon109 for the feedback :)

* * *

_"When everything goes to hell, the people who stand by you without flinching - they are your family. "_  
**_Jim Butcher_**

_"Every home is a university and the parents are the teachers."_**_  
-Mahatma Gandhi_**

* * *

The long uncut bulrushes brushed sleekly against Emmanuel's robes as he made his way up the sloping garden path. He'd never before visited the ram shackle building that loomed ahead, but there was no mistaking the teetering added stories and mismatched paneling as any other magical dwelling. The Burrow had become almost as famous as the Weasley clan themselves after the final batter. The ministry had stepped forward and equipped the family dwelling with a set of stringent magical wards once more, if not to keep out the few death eater insurgents still at large, than at least to deter reporters and bothersome tourists. Grimauld Place had been given the same treatment- if at the clear reluctance of the famous Mr Potter.

Emmanuel chuckled quietly as he continued up the gravel path, his boots trudging lightly, making as little noise as he possibly could. Mr Potter wasn't half as daft as he was made out to be; the Gryffindor's instincts hadn't been unfounded and if Potter had followed his gut and refused the Ministry access to his wards, Emmanuel's men wouldn't be infiltrating his house at this very moment. HE doubted granger would still be there of course, but he had to cover all of this bases. The ground was quickly sinking out from underneath her and Emmanuel knew from experience that when people were backed into a corner, they made stupid mistakes. Looking up at the outline of the Burros, Emmanuel smiled. Hiding here was definitely a stupid mistake. Even now he had his men surrounding the building, an anti-apparition blanket in place and had sealed off the Weasley's floo grate. Once the MLE officers had checked Grimauld Place was clear, they'd be making trips to the other homes of the Order members whose wards the ministry had some tenant of control over.

But Emmanuel was factoring in on the arrogance of the so-called golden trio, the arrogance dear old Dolores had spouted off time and time again. Forming a secrete defence organisation in the open of the Hogs head, beneath the eyes and (bandaged) ears of ministry personnel was a mark of foolishness not many would match with a witch as bright as Hermione Granger- but it only went to show, not only did the girl make mistakes, she had the audacity to believe she was genuinely 3steps ahead of everyone else. It would be just like the girl to hide in plain sight, never dreaming the ministry would be after her so quickly.

After all, even if she knew about the marriage law, she had no way to know Theodore Burges was preparing at this very minute to bring the law forward. Hermione Granger was out of time and by dawn tomorrow she would be breaking the law. Emmanuel could have let her hole up, let her think she was hidden away, and then let her read about the law in tomorrow's morning prophet. He could have- were he not looking forward to the privilege of seeing her face first hand. If today's debacle at St Mungo's had shown anything it was that the girl was good.

But not good enough.

Emmanuel had grown tired of playing now and it was time for the witch to return the files and stand in line with the rest of the Wizarding world. Reaching the door, Emmanuel gave the wood a resounding couple of taps, before stepping back and listening expectantly to the sounds of shuffling from within. Before he could contemplate knocking again, the door was opened by a thoroughly irate, dumpy red haired woman.

"Mrs Weasley, I presume?"

"Yes. Mister…?"

The woman trailed off leaving her sentence hanging in the air in the form of a question but it was not curiosity that marred her tone so much as suspicion. Emmanuel knew that even as her sharp eyes took in his dark grey robes her hand was clutching her wand behind the still ajar door. The war had never properly ended for this lot it seemed.

"My names Emmanuel, Mrs Weasley. I was wondering if I could have a word with Miss Granger?"

* * *

By the time Kreacher came to, the nasty intruding wizards had finished streaming through his masters house, and stood around him in the narrow landing. One of the wizards was kneeled down next to him, his wan pointed straight in Kreacher's face.

"Calm down Elf, we're her on behalf of the Ministry. Where are Mr Potter and Ms Granger?"

Kreacher slowly blinked up at the thin, rakish man, before curling his lip derisively into an aged sneer. Kreacher cared nothing for nasty wizards, or their wands. With his magical reserves depleted, Kreacher let his bony hands spread across the hardwood floor and drew forth the very last of the ancient house's residual magic. Feeling the flow trickle through his fingers, Kreacher glared up at the intruder once more and the man withdrew, his face full of shock as he stared down at the rippling of magic coming from the elf. With a croaky, wheezing laugh Kreacher threw up the wards of the old house once more, the windows and doors audibly locking, before apparating out from beneath the wizard's wand with a deafening crack. Kreacher must let master know the house had been breached. Master would deal with this bad, bad man- they would not be getting out of the house until he did.

* * *

It was waking up that morning, drenching in a cold sweat that made up Minerva's mind. It had been years sine she dreamt of her father. Not since the return of Voldemort all those years ago. At first she hadn't even realised it was him.

She'd been sitting at the top Dias, with a building agitation as she looked down at the Great Hall. She had the inexplicable feeling something was drastically wrong, but try as she might she couldn't spot the source of the disturbance in the crowd of students below. In the way of dreams, the Great hall was set in groups of small round tables, just as it was during the Triwizard Tournament's Yule Ball, yet her dream self apparently found this unremarkable. It was breakfast and students chatted happily in their school roes. There was no separation of houses, and no great drama for the lack of distinction, and yet as the meal progressed she became more and more aware of something fundamentally wrong- an anxiety apparently not shared by her fellow members of staff along the Dias. Watching them chat impervious to her inner turmoil, Minerva was shocked to realise she was not in fact seated in the Headmistress's central chair. She was sat to the right, the seat she'd occupied for over forty years by Albus' side.

Just as she was about to turn to her left, the hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end and all at once, Minerva knew exactly what was wrong. Standing around the room, unnoticed by the students, hundreds of dull-faced wizards in grey, suit cut robes stood stock still, unmoving and staring in at the students. With a gasp clinging like a dry lump in the back of her throat, Minerva had turned to point the anomaly out to Albus. Raising her arm to point the wizards out, her eyes widened and mouth hung open as she recognised the man seated next to her. Her father stared back at her and she was frozen in that cold, cold gaze.

"What have I told you Minnie?"

Her throat had closed and just like that she was an eight-year-old girl again.

"There's no such thing as wizards."

"Good girl."

Minerva felt a gentle hand grip her arm beneath the table and looked up to see her mother smiling encouragingly down at her.

"I see them too sweetheart. Of course there are wizards there. We're just special."

Minerva looked nervously from her mother to her father, far from comfortable being caught tangibly in the middle.

"If a person turns to mediums and necromancers, whoring after them, I will set my face against that person and will cut him off from among his people. Leviticus 20:6."

Minerva shuddered in her seat. She had forgotten how stony her father could sound.

"You'll frighten the girl, Robert! What have I told you?"

"Woman, you will not challenge me at this table."

Below the Dias, the students continued with breakfast as through nothing off was afoot- only the ministry men on the wall had swivelled, so that every one of their eyes was trained on her, sitting miserably as she was between her two parents.

No.

They weren't staring at her. They were starring at the goblet her father was slowly raising to his lips. Before she knew quite was she was doing, she'd swept the goblet from his hand- but not with her own hands. As the goblet floated above the table, Minerva felt the full force of her Father's glare upon her.

"Give me the goblet child."

"Father, no! It must be a potion, a poison- the wizards, they-"

"Let down the goblet child. Now."

"Father-"

"Now."

With panicked eyes and sweaty hands, Minerva concentrated on the cup until it floated gently to the table top. Below the Dias, the students were silent. They seemed to have finally noticed the wizards pressing in around the room, and looked up fearfully to her in guidance. But she wasn't even in the headmistress's chair! She wanted to scream down at them, but was interrupted by her father's voice once more.

"Drink it."

Her mother's hand squeezed her arm gently under the table, bidding her to do as she was told, warning her not to make trouble. Glancing at the grey dour wizards on the wall, Minerva took the goblet in her hand and raised it to her lips. Locking gazes with her Father she had downed the sickly purple brew in one quick finish.

"Good girl"

Minerva had shot up from her sheets, shivering in the faint light of dawn and weary in her very bones. Despite the extremity of the hour, despite the cool highlands air, there was only one thing on her mind- the burnt smoking taste still lingering on her tongue. She'd remember that taste anywhere. She'd been 18, when her mother, realising her daughter was flush with young love for the farmer's son, Dougal McGregor, had surreptitiously pulled her aside. As the daughter of the local pastor, Minerva had been more than shocked when her mother had pressed into her hand a small, purple vial and instructor her to take it once a month. In truth, it was her mother's trust; some could say blind trust, which urged Minerva to act as she eventually did. Her mother had brought magic into the house, risking her father's displeasure, so that Minerva would be protected from the follies of youth. At the time, it was insulting to say the least. But, smart girl that she was, Minerva knew what her mother was doing- she didn't want her daughter repeating her mistakes; squandering her magical talent and supressing her true self; Even if it was for true love. Her father had found out of course, and promptly called her a whore- despite the fact Douglas had proposed only that night. A small part of Minerva would always love the boy, but she could never bring herself to regret rejecting him.

Minerva shivered and promptly threw the bed covers off her, setting across the room for her warmest cloak. Sleep had truly abandoned her now. She knew what she had to do. She was damned if she would turn away a single student from this castle while she was still living. She'd already been making plans with her heads of houses, and today after she had gone through the Hogwarts charter with Irma and Poppy, she would contact Severus. If anyone would brew her enormous quantities of what would surely become illegal contraceptives, it would be him. Despite the taciturn display he put up for the world, Minerva knew the man could always be counted to fight for Hogwarts. After all, she knew exactly what it was like to call these hallowed halls home.

* * *

_"My names Emmanuel, Mrs Weasley. I was wondering if I could have a word with Miss Granger?"_

"Oh you were, were you? And where are you from then? Is there some new article she's kept hidden? A book? Has she discovered some secret other use for dragon blood? Or are you from that Mungo's lot? Well you can clear off now, Hermione doesn't live here anymore- not since she slighted my poor boy."

"Mum? Who's that? What's all the shouting?"

By the time Emmanuel had come out of his shock, he'd unknowingly retreated three steps from the front door and away from the dumpy woman now brandishing about a wooden spoon. Growling internally at himself, Emmanuel quickly readjusted his cool smile and attempted to interrupt the witch, but not before her son reached the door and diffused the situation.

"Oh Emmanuel. Hiya."

The harridan of a woman seemed to deflate at this, but her eyes still glared him down as if daring him to reclaim the ground he had lost in her advance. Keeping an eye on the troubling witch, Emmanuel swung to give the Weasley boy a look of appraisal. His arm was out of bandaging and looked completely unharmed, but his face appeared flustered, and his ears burning red.

"Ronald. I was just telling your mother here that I needed to speak with miss Granger."

"Oh... uh…"

"Would you mind if I came in, Madame Weasley? You wouldn't believe the day I've had."

The woman let him into her home with all the graciousness of a rabid bowtruckle, ushering him into a small cluttered sitting room before standing in the corner with her arms crossed. The Ron boy came in an awkwardly sat in the chair opposite and Emmanuel began to have his first doubts. He hadn't expected to be let in so easily, and he hadn't expected such open hostility. Perhaps poorly concealed hostility, yes, but it was if the red headed pair had been caught unaware- as though they weren't expecting an intrusion and had no story planned. Not even the Granger girls could be this arrogant.

"I'm sorry Emmanuel, but I haven't seen Hermione since she came to visit the other night at St Mungo's, when you were there. She's … that's to say…"

"She's staying with my daughter at Grimauld Place. I'm sure she'd be happy to receive you there. I take it you're from the ministry then?"

Emmanuel was thrown left wing yet again, but gave no outward appearance of it. What could the woman mean interrogating him? _ He_ was the one here to root out the lies.

"I am, I met young Ronald here-"

"Now listen here. You're going to get up, and you're going to leave. You're the reason my son here has lost Hermione."

"- Mum, wait"

"You and your bloody Marriage law."

Emmanuel sat silent as the woman gathered speed. Ron had turned an awful shade of puce and was avoiding looking at him even from the corner of his eye

"Yes of course we know about it, you think with family in the ministry and friends in the Order of the Phoenix, your interfering laws would go unnoticed? Now I don't approve of our Hermione breaking things off with Ron but I'll be damned if you think you can come under my roof and try and weasel her out! Hermione has a full 30 days to come to her sense and you and your forsaken wizemagot cabinet have lost it if you think I could ever sell out someone I've treated as a daughter for nigh on 8 years. How dare you! Have you even considered the lives you'll be ripping apart? The children born into the homes of those who are still babes themselves?"

"-Mum, please"

Emmanuel swiftly stood and before the witch could react, disarmed her with a silent flick of his wrist. The boy stood gaping and in mere seconds, Emmanuel was clutching his wand along with his mothers. For good measure, he quickly cast a silencing charm to shut the shrew up before she got going again, and petrified her whelp. He was a tall, gangly thing, but Emmanuel doubted he'd be above muggle violence. With the room once again peaceful, Emanuel cast Homenum Revelio, and waited for the tell-tale glow of blue light. When it failed to appear Emmanuel scowled down at the two silent witnesses to his failure. The girl wasn't there after all. He knew something was off.

Perhaps the harridan had been right when she'd mentioned contacts in the Order and within the ministry itself. The girl must have been tipped off that her time was running out. Without bothering to remove the charms from the two Weasleys, he threw their wands to the far end of the lounge and stalked out of their pitiful house without a second glance. By the time the woman had freed her son and reclaimed that awful, awful screeching she was so fond off, he was on the boundary of the yard and promptly stepped into the pulling whirl of apparition.

There were only so many places she could hide. They had her blood now, and short of leaving the country; there was nowhere she could run. All Emmanuel had to do now was make sure she couldn't leave the country.

* * *

Minerva had been yelling from the grate for a good ten minutes before she gave up. Honestly. It was barely 6 o'clock and the man had probably drunken himself into a stupor. She knew the man was struggling to come to terms with all that had happened during the war, but there were limits. He was only hurting himself now, and frankly, Minerva knew she had to put a stop to it.

She just didn't know how.

Whatever camaraderie the pair had developed over the years as Hogwarts colleagues had been irreparable damaged by Albus' daft master plan. The dour wizard had forgiven her, and played her reaction down as 'necessary' but Minerva knew the man had been hurt by her lack of trust, and she could never properly forgive herself for that. The man had had few enough friends as it was, and to lose all of them, to become the figure they hated, the murderer of their mutual mentor, that had taken what little normalcy the mans life had left. No matter how many times the man waved away her apologies, Minerva could never seem to reclaim that easy banter they'd once held. It was only out of respect for the man that she refused to let her own hurt show- and so she mothered him and berated him and heckled him as she always had, and simply hoped, that given enough time, he would find a way to heal.

If anyone could, it was Severus.

Stepping through the man's narrow fireplace, she continued to holler his name, finding each of the Spartan rooms empty. Frowning, she drew her wand and continued through the house. Severus hadn't left his cottage for months, and it was unlike him to ignore her. Though he'd never admit it, he had begun to feel the true constraints of prolonged isolation and even their strained banter was welcome to him in a way it hadn't been only three of four months before hand. Giving up the bedroom and kitchen as equally empty, Minerva made her way downstairs. She'd only stepped foot in his labs once before, paranoid as he was with them, and it was with trepidation she approached the door now, uninvited as she was.

Pushing the door ajar, Minerva scanned the room, the magical lighting revealing the rows of benches and cabinets pressed against the walls and the three vast worktables in the middle of the room. There was a battered old radio sitting on one of the nearest benches and the room was filled with a soft soulful crooning. Ingredients and tools lined the worktable on the far left but for all the signs of activity, the snarky potions Master himself was still absent.

"Severus?"

"… oh for fucks sake."

It was the faintest mutter and Minerva barely heard it from the other side of the room, but there was no mistaking that particular tone- or the vocabulary for that matter. Rushing across the stone tiled lab, Minerva fell to her knees next to the ungracefully slumped figure of Severus Snape. In a pair of faded slacks and a plain black jumper, the man was nothing more than a heap of painful angles pressed against the leg of the huge wooden table.

"What on earth have you done, you foolish, foolish man?"

"Piss off."

Minerva knew he was in a bad shape when he failed to slap away her hands, and instead relented as she straightened him up into a sitting position, and quickly cast a rudimentary diagnostic charm. She had no real way with healing spells but many years of duty of care within a classroom let her know the warning signals shinning out nearly all over the mans thin frame.

"Leave it Minerva, I'll be fine in a moment or two." His voice was gruff as ever, but held the telltale signs of embarrassment. Enigmatic as the man tried to be, she'd known him since he was a scrawny 11-year-old boy, and had long ago learnt to read his tone.

"How long have you been on the floor, you miserable sod?"

The hacking cough produced at this endearment did more to scare her then anything so far. _Oh Severus, you foolish boy. _

"Charming."

"How long."

The man's sigh was irritable as he did his best to avoid her eye, focusing instead on his wand that lay on the floor a foot or so away.

"An hour or two."

"You couldn't move to reach your wand?"

"I couldn't move to sit up you interfering bloody woman. Get out. I don't need you fussing over me."

Tempted as Minerva was to simply levitate the frustrating man upstairs to the far more comfortable couch, she knew his pride would never allow it. She had learnt long ago not to push the man too far. Letting the silence grow between them, Minerva looked about the lab once more. Whatever the man was working on, she didn't recognise it- and considering she had gotten an Outstanding on her Potions newt and long stayed vaguely interested in her colleague's field, Minerva was forced to presume it was new research.

Severus hadn't investigated anything new for, well, not since working on Arthur Weasley's antidote at least. Minerva was overjoyed for a swift moment, before realising the toll it had obviously taken on the man now strewn across the cold stone floor.

"Is it from Nagini's bite?"

Even crumpled on the floor and in obvious pain, the man still managed to throw her a truly derisive eye roll. While she heard him mutter something under his breath about bleeding heart Gryffindor's, it was obvious he wasn't going to reply. Giving her own frustrated growl, Minerva proceeded to bury her head in her hands.

"If you don't tell me what's wrong this very minute I'll leave you where you are and send Poppy after you." The man's head spun around and shot her a truly venomous glare. "Don't think for a minute I wouldn't. Now what's wrong?"

"It's nothing to do with the damn snake." Severus' voice grew more and more haggard as he continued. "It's an after effect, from the Cruciatus. It's under control."

Minerva simply raised an eyebrow at his prone form on the floor, forcing him to clarify.

"There's a tonic I have to take, daily. My nervous system is completely redundant… and if I don't take the potion, I experience bouts of temporary paralysis."

"And you've told who about this condition! Severus! How long have you been like this?"

The man's jaw clenched and his eyes shuttered back into their locked occluded state. He was obviously done discussing his condition but Minerva refused to back down, waiting through the silence with her arms folded and her gaze cross.

"What difference does it make? I have the potion. I just haven't taken it since…" here he trailed off, as if troubled for a moment.

"What day is it?"

"Friday." Her lips pinched at the question, drawing even thinner than usual. "How long have you been down here?"

"A little over 24 hours. Give or take."

"What are you working on?" Minerva asked, frowning and looking at the contents strewn over the work table once more. Even as she surveyed the table top, she could see Severus' lips quirk in a frown out of the corner of her eye.

"None of your business. Fetch me the dark navy potion from the third cabinet over there- the round glass bottle."

With a sigh Minerva did as she was bid and brought the small bottle to his lips, only to have it snatched out of her hand. Obstinate man.

"There. I'll be fine in a few minutes." Setting the bottle aside, Severus attempted to hide the grimace of pain from his features, setting his jaw and clenching his knuckles. Giving it up as a loss, he turned to her and all but barked his next question.

"What brought you here anyway? What do you need, or am I to be convinced it was merely a social call?"

Minerva kept her gaze steady and refused to let either her pity or ire show on her face. She had come to ask him to brew Hogwarts a supply of contraceptive potions, but given his current state, she wasn't sure if that was wise after all. The man had been swept away simply by his research and look at the consequences. As droll as he intended to be about his circumstances, there was no denying the man was not the Potions Master he once was, and he obviously had a long way to go in the healing process. It was no matter. School didn't resume until September; she had more than enough time to find another potions master, or stock up on premade elixirs. No doubt they wouldn't be as good nor as cheap as what Severus could provide, but even as Hogwarts Headmistress, Minerva refused to put a price on Severus' health. She was not Albus.

"It doesn't matter. Just an excuse to check up on you."

If the man knew she was lying, he failed to comment on it, and simply glowered at the floor, attempting to ignore the pain of feeling returning to his crumpled limbs.

"Well you've checked up on me. Now bugger off."

Minerva had barely opened her mouth to argue, to proclaim that she couldn't possibly leave him lying on his basements floor, when he interrupted.

"Please. Just leave."

_Oh Severus. You stupid sod._

With a gentle nod, Minerva rose from the floor beside him and made her way up the stairs. She'd let the man have his damn forsaken pride and trust that he'd struggle on once more. After all, damaged as he was, that's one thing Severus had always managed to do- Survive.

* * *

A/N: I'm working off the back story for McGonagall that JKR put up on Pottermore, It's one of my favourite back stories and I really wish it had been included in the books, although I understand that given they were written from Harry's point of view, it would have been odd to bring up. Still, I went on a writing tangent and figured I might as well throw it in the chapter. As always your reviews make my day and help shape this story. (For instance: Should I just stick to Hermione/Snape point of views, or do you guys like little off shoots into the minor characters experiences? Let me know what you think)


	30. Chapter 30 - Of mice and men

Disclaimer: If I was JKR this chapter wouldn't have been such a marathon to write. I'm just playing around with her words- and god are they heavy when you try and move them around.

* * *

"...one opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death."

**Markus Zusak, The Book Thief**

* * *

The girl had been pacing the room for a good ten minutes- wringing her hands before her and paying no heed to the room around her. It wasn't difficult for Kingsly to deduce her frame of mind. He'd seen the same thing as his rookie Aurors returned from their first bouts of fieldwork. The distracted agitation, the jumpy glances to the empty fireplace.

She was terrified.

"Hermione, you did fine. You did well. You're safe now. Ginny and Harry will be through shortly. Go upstairs and pack."

Kingsley did his best to make his voice as calm as possible, but the girl still started at his words.

"Pack?"

"We'll have to move. They heard my shout, they'll be coming here first."

Kingsley pretended not to see her face fall or her shoulders slump. Choosing instead to return her determined nod. He really couldn't blame the girl and it was not resent but pity that coloured his gaze as he watched her disappear up the stairs.

It could have gone far worse. All in all, Kingsley was starting to realise the determined young witch was right. A marriage law was one thing. The lab he'd now seen for himself, before Hermione had destroyed it so thoroughly, now that was something else entirely. That was something worth losing a job over. Teddy Burges had overstepped the mark and Kingsley frowned to think of what the man would attempt next. Forcing muggleborns and the children of muggleborns to marry- the man had the power to carry that off. He had over half the Wizengamot bought out, not to mention nearly every head of department in the ministry. Plus the logic was sound. He wouldn't shout it about in front of Hermione, but there was no denying- the magical blood pool had been stagnating for years. New blood- strong new magical blood- was desperately needed.

But preparing to drug huge portions of the population? Not even Burges had the money and influence to get away with that. There was something bigger going on and Kingsley couldn't shake the sinking feeling now dragging down his stomach- he was no long in a position to keep tabs on the ministries ministrations. They'd need a new ear, somewhere close to the centre. As Kingsley internally ran through a list of names, the hearth burst into life beside him. As a Harry far different from the moaning grey lump he'd seen before climbed out of the grate, Kingsley was enveloped in a fierce but hasty hug.

"Where's Hermione?"

Kingsly turned to the source of the question and came face to face with a steely looking Ginny. The fire now glinting in her eyes put the hearth to shame and not for the first time Kingsley wondered if the girls place was indeed on a broom and not in the Auror office.

* * *

As soon as Hermione crossed the threshold of Grimauld Place's spare bedroom, the room she'd been aching to leave just hours ago, the weight of the day caught up with her. In the room that stood unchanged since shed last left it, an entirely new witch sunk to the floor and took in a shuddering breath. Swamped in her lime green robes she paid no heed to the dusty state of the carpeted floor and poured all her might into the deep uneven breaths now racing through her thin frame.

She'd been stupid. So incessantly, unbelievably stupid. Of course they'd have to flee Grimauld place now. She just couldn't have jumped into the grate when Kingsley had first pulled at her, could she. Oh no. Shed been frozen- floored in her tracks and flooded with a well of rage she'd never before felt. She's wanted to see his eyes. Wanted to see his face and see some shred of pity or remorse as she was forced to flee her lab, her work, and her life.

She remembered those cold grey eyes behind the glass. She remembered that awful look of not pity, or remorse, but triumph. Triumph, like it was all a game he thought he'd won. Hate, Hermione could deal with. Hate and spite and greed – the war had numbed her to those glares, those barbs and stings of witches and wizards who would always despise her for her blood. But those grey eyes had held only triumph. Elation.

So she'd snapped.

She'd been so stupid. She'd blown that lab to pieces without a second thought, her wand attuned to the pull of her gut rather than her common sense. And now they'd have to flee. More than that. Now Kingsley would pay the price for her stupidity- Harry and Ginny too most likely. This might be a game to those in the ministry- but the fall out was real. Hermione was bitterly reminded off her first introduction to wizard's chess. Yet again Hermione found herself in a game too brutal to loose. Fighting the sickly feeling swelling in her stomach, Hermione rose to her feet once more. As much as she longed to sink into the floor and sleep for a thousand years, she couldn't make any more mistakes. She couldn't gamble with the lives of her friends. They weren't safe here. Because of her. Snatching her beaded bag from the suites bedside table, Hermione carefully deposited the St Mungo's files within. After what they'd cost, it was more important than ever to keep them safe. Shoving the beaded purse into the bottom of her satchel, Hermione resolutely made her way downstairs. It was time she fled, before any more pieces on this horrific chessboard were lost to the ministry.

Arriving on the landing, Hermione ran headlong into Harry.

"Hermione, get your things. Kingsley's already taken Ginny though the floo."

"I've got everything. Where are we going?"

"Come on." Hermione didn't comment as her friend literally pulled her by the arm into the floo and it was only as he cried the address that her question was answered.

"Shell Cottage!"

* * *

As soon as Minerva left the threshold of the lab, Severus surrendered himself to the agony of the potion. His last thoughts as feeling rushed to the reaches of his extremities, flinging his limbs into an agonising seizure, were bitter reflections on the cost of occulumency. Pain held at bay soon became twentyfold. It seemed Severus was destined to be tortured forever- even if now his last tormentor was his own bloody stupidity. Writhing on the cold stone floor a small but insistent part of his mind crowed down at his punishment.

_It's what you get, you stupid prat. How hard is it to take a fucking tonic?_

When the potion had finally finished burning feeling to the last of his nerves, Severus rose shakily to his feet, hunching himself over the work desk for support. Silently examining the potion in front of him, he carefully conjured a solid glass globe, ignoring the aching of his limbs. Holding the globe in front of him he siphoned the potion with his wand until it filled the glass globe, careful not to let the faint shaking of his hands jeopardise the process. He'd worked non-stop for this to work and he'd be damned if he was going to let the infirmities of the flesh hinder the explorations of the mind. Lifting his wand to his brow, Severus frowned.

_Exactly when had Hermione Granger wormed her way to the forefront of his thoughts?_

Scowling, he allowed the silver substance to trickle through his wand all the same. Perhaps it was fitting- after all he'd spent the last 24 hours pouring over her research. Tipping the edge of his wand through the globe, Severus watched in awe as the silver liquid dispersed through the potion. It was almost exactly like staring into a Pensieve. Without a second thought to his still sore frame, he stood fascinated as the orb bloomed into life. An eleven-year-old Granger scampered down the Quidditch pitch stairs after setting his robes on fire. Her steps thundered loudly as she ran, even amongst the noisy crowd and he watched that unsightly mane of hair cascade around her as she flew away from him. The globe quickly shifted and a slightly older Granger came into view, this time in the Hospital Wing. He watched as Poppy administered the Mandrake Draught and her stony, petrified form flooded with life.

The first words out of her mouth as she stared up at the Hogwarts Matron, Professor Sprout and himself were "It's a Basilisk." Severus snorted down at the memory. A twelve year old had figured out what he and Albus had only guessed at. That's when he knew the girl would prove herself Potter's greatest ally. It's when he knew, that bright as she was, he could never encourage the girl. Never offer the kind of support or mentoring she received from every other professor. Oh the girl was almost eerily reminiscent of himself at that age and exasperated by the fools around her, but he could never offer the recognition she deserved. Potter had to hate him. He had a role to play and the girl was just bright enough to pose a threat.

So he watched as his past self sneered down at her. He watched her face fall and her brows draw and he watched the bat of the dungeons stalk away without a second glance. With his exit the globe shifted once more, this time the girls face drawn into a pale white mask of fear. He watched as Potter ran after the madman Black and his pet fucking werewolf and he was left behind with the injured Weasley and distraught Granger. Severus watched stone-faced as his past self barked at the frightened girl to get a move on. His face was twisted with rage and though it hadn't shown, fear. Unbeknownst to the two Gryffindor's, Severus Boggart form had walked the forest that night- he'd been inconsolably afraid of Werewolves since the Marauders fateful trap fifth year. Even now watching his past self kneel and bind the Weasley brat's leg, he could remember the chewing, clawing feeling of fear in the very pit of his stomach.

Before Severus could dwell too severely on the scene before him, the electric, tingling sensation of his wards thrummed against his skin.

_For fucks sake._

* * *

They'd already assembled in Shell Cottage when Harry led Hermione through the Floo. Ginny sat with her head bent over some parchment, Kingsley by her side, eyeing Hermione calculatedly. Bill walked across the room to clap Harry on the back and smile Encouragingly at Hermione and the sounds of movement in the kitchen signal a very pregnant Fleur refusing to put her feet up and rest. Harry quickly left her side to join Ginny and Hermione was left standing in the middle of the room. Looking around the room at the people ready to fight by her side, the ones who had already made sacrifices to help her, Hermione struggled to get her nerves under order.

"So what's the plan?"

She felt callous, grimly diving into the heart of the matter without thanking the people around her but the fact was they were out of time. Even Shell Cottage wouldn't remain safe indefinitely. Just as Kingsley stood to hand her a sheaf of parchment, the floo place burst into life and the room froze. Hermione's hand shot to her wand before she could think and as George's head spun into focus, every wand in the room was pointed down at his face.

"I've had warmer welcomes." The boy casually grinned as he stepped through the floo followed by a thin, sandy haired youth

"Collin?"

Harry had blurted the name out on instinct, and his error plunged the room into silence. Hermione cringed at her friend's folly. Collin and Dennis Creevey had always looked alike, after all. But watching the younger wizards face fall; she knew he would hate that resemblance forever more.

"Sorry mate- Dennis- I'm so, so sorry."

Harry's blundering apology only served to make the room more tense until abruptly, George began to laugh it off- clapping Dennis soundly on the back as he did so.

"What the public doesn't realise about the 'boy who lived' is that he actually lived to be the stupidest git in the Wizarding world. I tried to get them to change it to 'the chosen prat', but the Prophet doesn't go in for the truth apparently."

Watching Dennis benevolently shrug his shoulders and shake Harry's hand, Hermione remarked on how much war had aged the boy- he couldn't be more than 17 but he seemed far-

Hermione gasped, drawing the attention of the room.

"Dennis, how old are you?"

"16" Just as Hermione released a breath she's unknowingly been holding, he continued. "I'll be 17 next Tuesday."

_Fuck_

Hermione looked horrified from Dennis to George.

"Have you explained-"

"About the law?" Dennis didn't raise his voice or differ from his shy, level tone, but Hermione abruptly shut up. "Yes, George mentioned it. I want to help fight. I don't want to head back to Hogwarts with a wife and child."

George and Harry joined voices in a mighty 'hear hear', and Ginny grinned her patent Weasley grin. Hermione frowned at the thought of the boy relinquishing his education. She hadn't even considered that aspect of the law, and it could possibly be one of the most brutal parts.

"Don't you worry mate, Hermione's got plans, she's going to give the ministry what for."

Hermione swallowed humbly and looked around at the faces pressing in at her, looking up to her expectantly and all at once she remember the fiasco at St Mungo's, Ron in his hospital bed, Her notes in ashes, her lab at St Mungo's in tatters, and Kingsley losing his job.

How could they still place faith in her? She wasn't a leader like Harry or an Auror like Kingsley. She was a know-it-all bookworm and unfortunately she'd lost her copy of "_How to agitate the Ministry of Magic until they amend their brutal laws_."

Hermione plastered a determined look on her face and nodded all the same. She wasn't sure how she could help Collin or how she could go about using the Ministries experiments against them, or garnering public support. But she was sure of one thing- She was Hermione Granger. If there was one thing she could do, it was try, and try her best. After all- surely there was no-one else's lives left to ruin?

**CRACK**

With a sudden lurch, the room erupted to its feet once more, wands drawn and raised only to falter as the decrepit form of Kreacher appeared in the centre of the room- and promptly collapsed. In a whirl of movement, Harry had knelt by the elf as Ginny flew into the Kitchen, emerging with a vial of pepper up. Kingsley's face had darkened and sharing a meaningful look with Hermione he was the first to break the silence.

"They've reached Grimauld Place."

A distant part of Hermione knew she should be relieved, she should be spurned into action by yet another narrow escape, but all she could focus on was the crumpled form of Kreacher. Watching her best friend leaning over his small body, Hermione was vividly reminded of another house elf collapsing on arrival of Shell Cottage. She could only imagine what was running through Harry's mind.

"Is he..?" Hermione couldn't force the works out past the sudden lump in her throat. She watched as her messy haired friend muttered enervate and it was only as the elf's form feebly shifted on the floor that Hermione's heart reared into life once more.

"Bad wizards… breached master's house… Kreacher sorry sir… they wanted misses mudblood."

Harry shot Hermione a relieved smile, apologising for the elf's odd title for the millionth time, as if she could possibly care right now.

"You did well Kreacher. You're safe, that's all that matters and you warned us. You did very well to warn us. What did they do you?" the hair on the back of Hermione's neck stood up as the elf gave a dark, sinister chuckle.

"Nothing sir, nothing at all… The wards drained my magics; Kreacher locked the bad men in ... won't get out till master returns to his house"

Hermione swallowed before spinning from Kreacher to the troubled face of Kingsley, who grimly met her eyes.

"You said they'd be attempting to persuade me?"

She left the end of that sentence in the air, the words now running through her mind unspoken. She was sure Kingsley realised for himself that armed Magical Law enforcement wizards infiltrating Grimauld Place was just a tad more forceful than persuasion.

"St Mungo's must have forced their hands…" Spoke Kingsley, his trademark measured tone doubtful.

"But it's more than that." Ginny spoke up. "They've given up the pretence of subtlety. Its like dad said, they're bring the law forward, they can afford to be a bit bolder."

Here Kingsley shook his head.

"There's a bit bolder, and then there's pulling men from regular duties, and that means questions asked. That's not how Theodore Burges operates."

"It's Emmanuel." Hermione tried to ignore how panicked and shaky her voice sounded echoing throughout the room. "He knows there's no way I'll agree to the law. He knows I'm going to fight it."

There was a chorus of confused howls- Harry of course squawking the loudest as he returned from escorting Kreacher to the kitchen.

"Hermione, its possible you're being paranoid." Kingsley's face was fused between kindness and pity, his voice painfully delicate. "How would he know you plan to fight the ministry's law? Your exit from St Mungo's- the damage to the labs- that can all be explained away as the result of cornering a war hero. A result of instinct- of panic. They can't possibly know-"

"There's something I haven't told you yet."

_Because you'll all hate me. Hate what you risked for me. You'll know I let you down. _

"As soon as I walked into St Mungo's this morning, I knew Emmanuel and his men were waiting for me upstairs- Lucy, my friend at work, she overheard and well, misunderstood really" Hermione took a deep breath and tried to restrain a growl- she want being clear and they didn't need to know what Lucy had assumed.

"She warned me they were there and she accidentally let slip that they'd moved the results from the research to high security clearance."

The faces of the small room followed her every word with varying reactions. Bill, Fluer and Dennis listened curiously while Ginny still wore a mask of grim determination It was only Harry and Kingsley who listened on with apprehension, the pair of Auror's waiting warily for the point.

"I'm sorry, I could have walked out of there strait away. I could've saved everyone all your sacrifices. I didn't realise, I was just so focused with the files and Caligula is so deadly, I knew whatever made them change the security clearance couldn't be good and it was my last chance to find out and… I'm so, so sorry. Kingsley… your job, I –"

"You did what you thought as right." The man's tone was so utterly devoid of blame that Hermione started.

"You don't-"

"Blame you?" this time Harry came to her side in the middle of the room, draping an arm around her and all but forcing her into one of the living room chairs. "You're a Gryffindor, Hermione. You took a risk and we were lucky that is played off. Have you seen what's in the files?"

"Not yet. It will take me a few days I think to analyse the findings, but I think that it's the Caligula they're interested in, so-"

"The most important thing is getting you into hiding. Kreacher bought us some time, but its more important than ever to get you underground. They'll want those files back, and the threat you pose, well. Neutralised."

For some strange reason Kingsley's euphemism served to galvanise Hermione's shaky resolve. Her friends didn't blame her, and the ministry saw her as a threat.

_As they should- she entirely intended to be one._

"Did you look into any safe muggle dwellings?"

Kingsley looked grim.

"I asked Nathanial, he's one of my staff to compile a list. I was meant to hear from him tonight. Things advanced rather sooner than I anticipated." The room lapsed into a pause and Hermione bit her lip, knowing her next thought wouldn't be well received.

"We could just pick a spot at random." Ginny and George tied for the loudest resounding 'No's. Hermione had to admit the thought wasn't particularly appealing- living without magic would be difficult enough without the thought of McNair or Dolohov creeping about the neighbourhood.

"I know you didn't want to leave the country, Hermione, but at least abroad you'll be able to protect yourself."

"How am I doing to fight the law from overseas though?!" Hermione didn't bother to temper her cry, and her voice seemed to echo across the room.

"And what are we then? The Granger fan club? Are we just sitting her to cheer you on while we twiddle our thumbs then?" George's tone skipped right past light and somehow managed to sound strained and hollow. As though each attempt at humour drained him.

_He's right though._ Still guilt niggled at Hermione's conscience and she tried to dissuade them.

"The ministry will be watching you all like hawks as soon as I contact you."

George frowned as he was forced to concede the point.

"It's true. Dad knows our floo's already being watched. Yours will probably all be watched soon too."

Everyone studiously resisted the urge to glance at the floo sitting silently vacant in the centre of the room.

"And I'm sure the ministry are more than capable of intercepting any owls I send cross country." Hermione added, strengthening her case.

Kingsley didn't correct her logic here either.

"Well…"

The interrupting voice was so quiet and timid that Hermione's head swivelled immediately. She had forgotten Dennis was even in the room. The boy visibly flinched and blushed as every eye in the room turned to listen, and Hermione could tell he rather wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"It's just that, you don't have to communicate magically." Hermione watched as the boy reached into his pocket and brought out a small, dull grey device. "You could take my mobile phone." The boy nervously filled in the rooms silent reaction, his voice hurried and high pitched.

"I mean, It wont work now so I cant show you, it doesn't work around magic that is. But as soon as you move out of range, anywhere muggle really and it starts to work again. This one does anyway. I tried a few others but it's just the Nokia ones that don't break. They're almost indestructible really."

The boy blushed and lapsed into silence almost as though waiting to be dismissed or ridiculed for his input. Hermione looked over the small brick phone in her hand and a tight smile grew on her lips.

"It's perfect. The ministry wouldn't dream I'd use a muggle phone."

Kingsley however, still looked troubled.

"What if you run into trouble around magic, how will you contact us if something happens?"

There was an undeniable logic to his words but Hermione was still buoyed up by the mobile in her hand. With her lips between her teeth Hermione puzzled it out thoroughly before replying.

"Well, Dennis will be in hiding in the muggle world, right? He'll have the designated 30 days before he's breaking the law and so your partners will be able to find him a safe house- I can contact Collin with the phone and he can contact you guys."

"But when the phone stops working?"

_Time for the ugly truth Granger- admit it to them, and yourself._

Her voice was quiet and she tried vainly to avoid looking at Harry or Ginny as she got the words out.

"If I get into trouble, odds are there's nothing you'll be able to do in time. I'm on my own."

_Phone in my hand. Files in my bag. I'll be okay. _

"I mean, I'm not going to be getting into any trouble in the first place, of course."

Harry loudly scoffed. "Oh yeah… when did trouble ever come find us?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him in a mock-scowl.

"It was following you, not me. I'll be fine."

Bill spoke up for the first time, not quite as hesitant as Dennis, but obviously not quite at ease with the tactics talk invading his living room. "You could try and find a set of enchanted mirrors. They can connect no matter the distance."

Hermione glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye and saw her friends face fall as his thoughts flew quickly to Sirius. Ginny apparently noticed the motion, grasping his hand reassuringly before continuing.

"I can ask Dung to look round for some. Then one of us will find a way of bringing them."

"Bringing them where though?"

She hadn't meant to air that doubt aloud but Hermione had never quite mastered the link between her brain and her mouth. A silence crept through the room once more.

"I have some old contacts in Copenhagen- the Wizarding community there _might_ shield you, if I can talk them around. If the MLE lot are stuck in Grimauld Place , and Emmanuel doesn't know where you are, I've got at least a few hours to sort it out. I can probably apparate there and back in that time."

Hermione knew the magical energy that would cost the sombre wizard but knew better than to argue- it was a plan, and the only one they had. It just had to work.

"Okay, but what about planning for the law- we've only got until dawn to get our story to the public- to warn people about potions and –

Hermione stopped here, lapsing into distracted thought, and she didn't realised Harry was talking until a few moments later.

"… the reputations gone up a mile since the war- people remember it told the truth about me, about Dumbledore- even with the nutcase stuff Luna includes. The Quibblers our best bet."

"Kingsley I can get Skeeter to give me an interview but we'd need to make a deal- include her name on the register for animagus' without an announcement or notification to the office. Would any of your men be able to pull that off? I mean, now that you can't…"

The frown that lined the darker wizards face was disheartening until George spoke up from the other side of the room.

"Percy may be a prat, but he'll have access- I can make him… agreeable to the notion."

Hermione pictured the austere, pompous wizard she knew and didn't bother to hide the scepticism now clear on her face. George however remained unperturbed, and Ginny quickly interpreted her brother's motivation.

"Oliver's mother is a muggle born."

_Ah. That makes sense._

"But Hermione, why bother making a deal with Skeeter? She'll write the article as soon as you threaten reporting her to the ministry."

"Oh, the deal isn't for an interview." Hermione smiled grimly. "The deal is if she can get it published in the prophet."

The appraising look Hermione received then from Harry was a boost to her confidence- She was done toeing the lines. A sort of elation was bubbling up beneath all the fear, doubt and tension. She was palpably reminded of her 3rd year.

"So I've got this phone. Dennis, you'll have to get another one, then call me so ill ave your number. Kingsley will get you set up in a safe house. Harry, I need you or Ginny to contact Luna, make sure she's ready to include an article on short notice. George- the memory orbs? Don't send any paperwork to the ministry yet- and talk to Percy; see if he'll agree re. the register. Ginny, talk to your team, see what you can arrange."

"Anything else boss?" George ribbed her sarcastically and Hermione blushed at her bossy tone. It just felt natural, no different from assigning Harry and Ron their revision schedule before an exam.

Well, hopefully different in the sense that her instructions would actually be carried out.

"I'll try and get access to a lab- Kingsley, can you try for Copenhagen n-"

Hermione was abruptly cut off as a sudden light flared a lurid green and the sounds of flames spluttered through the room. Turning to the floo, she looked in horror at the floating visage of a pale Ronald Weasley.

"Kingsley, Mione? That Emmanuel bloke was just here. Mum went mental at him- she sort of- that is I don't think she meant to or knew quite what she was doing- but she started yelling at him about the law. Emmanuel, he, well- he disarmed the both of us, then checked the place to see if you were hiding anywhere." Ron's blush reached the very tips of his ears and his face was an ugly puce colour floating amongst the emerald flames.

"He knows we know."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond when Kingsley lunged past her, wordlessly silencing her as he shoved Ron out of the hearth and extinguished the flames. The room stood dumbfounded for a moment until Ginny groaned loudly from the corner.

"Oh Ron, you stupid git."

And it clicked.

Hermione turned to Kingsley, her face a mask of horror.

"They're tracking the Burrow's Floo." The words were inane and pointless but they tumbled from her mouth all the same.

"They'll be coming." Was the man's steady response.

* * *

If Minerva was back to harass him he's hex her to kingdom come then disconnect the bloody floo for good. Scowling back down at the workbench, he tapped his wand sharply on the globe and the scene froze until a still image of the girls frightened face filled the fog. Growling he set the glass aside and made his way upstairs, the tremors and shooting pains of his limbs biting back a new- exacting their revenge on him for having ignored them so long.

"Minerva if you've brought Poppy so help me Circe you've got exactly ten seconds to leave, _now_."

As he grappled with the steep stone stairs a voice floated down from the floo-place.

"As much as I esteem Hogwarts' newest headmistress, Godfather, I'm going to have to take exception at such an address."

_What was today? National irritate a recluse day?_

"What do you want?" Stepping into the living room Severus' caught Draco's amused expression at his caustic inquiry. The boy had long since come accustomed to his godfather's manner of address.

"I see you're in a fine mood today."

Severus only growled, collapsing into his chair and glaring at the floating face of the youngest Malfoy.

"So I suppose I'll cut to the chase. Will you come and evaluate a property I'm looking into purchasing?"

Severus kept his confusion far from his face, only sardonically raising an eyebrow.

"It may astound you Draco but I'm not actually an authority on post-classical architecture."

"It you were in any other mood I'd draw this out – I do love your droll humour. But I've the oddest sense you're about to take house points of issue detention."

Severus wondered when the boy had started mimicking Lucius' pompous tones. He'd always had a distinct, almost stuck up drawl, but Severus had never heard it so pronounced. Rebuilding the family name was obviously taking ts toll on the boy.

"I'm looking to buy a magical greenhouse, an industrial one, north of Prague. I just need you to access the quality of the produce0 I'll cover the travel and board- and any costs that arise naturally."

Noticing a trace of hesitation following the end of Draco's proposition, Severus reserved comment. Silence was the most effective means of extracting further information after all, and sure enough-

"It wouldn't be just a one time job, per se. There's another property in Spain, and four more in Germany that I need to look at."

Severus looked down at the carefully blank face of the boy he'd known since infancy. The boy he'd once pledged his life to protect. The boy he'd killed for. Would he throw his lot in with the machinations of the Malfoy's once more? To be sure, there were slowly forging a path on the side of the light- but Lucius had done the exact same when their 'Lord' first fell, all those years ago.

That said, Severus truly believed Draco was different – _Better-_ than his father. But the whole affair left a bitter held the bitter taste of De ja vu. He couldn't help but remember the times he'd leapt to do the biding of another male blonde youth- and look how well that had turned out, he'd been left with far more than a tattoo.

Part of Severus wanted to demand all the particulars- to refuse his service until he knew exactly what he would be helping- or hindering. But a far more recent part of him- the part that had barricaded him within this little hovel with nought but memories and whiskey- that part didn't want to know a thing. How could it matter? He could go with his godson, say whether the damn plants were passable or a complete crock of shit, and then return to his cesspit.

In fact. Severus could return to his cesspit and add to the Granger girl's research. Just as Severus forced his thoughts away from the potion and formulae waiting for him downstairs, he found Draco had broken the pause between them.

"Look, think it through. I'll come back in the morning- or would before noon suit you better?"

"Noon." Severus gave nothing of his inner thoughts away – he would promise the boy nothing. "Goodnight Draco. Lovely as always to receive a purely social visit."

The blush on the boys face as he spun away through the flames put Severus slightly more at ease.

This was Draco. Not Lucius.

Besides, Severus knew well enough that were he to refuse his help, to remain in his lab and in his cups, the boy would simply find another appraiser and his plans would continue. Far better then, that he involved himself- at least if he kept an eye on Draco he could stop the boy from committing anything too garish.

It seemed his life's role after all- looking after brats long after the war and his employment demanded it.

_Not that you ever made the best job of it… Headmaster._

Severus scowled at the empty living room, before abandoning his chair.

_No use scowling about it, Snivellus. Is it really a surprise you fucked that up, when the same thing happens to everything you ever touch? Draco lived to become his father, despite your efforts, and you treated one of the greatest minds to pass through Hogwarts, one of the few students who would have heeded your help, like absolute shit. And now, what? You expect her to accept your help? Your snivelling, pathetic excuse for an apology? Why should she give a damn for your meagre amendments- you cant even brew without collapsing like a fucking cripple!_

Try as he might Severus could not ignore the thoughts that plagued his mind and the continued to dog him down the narrow set of stairs and into his lab where they heckled and needled at the orb still sat in the centre of his desk.

The frozen face of Hermione Granger was pale with fear and Severus couldn't bear to look at it. He knew, later, that he should have hurled the orb at the wall. He should have left the shattered pieces where they fell, the splintered shards floating in the silvery spillage, and he should have marched back upstairs. He should have ignored his set of tumblers and drained the whisky from the bottle until his sorry thoughts passed him by and left him in the hazy, quiet of sleep.

But Severus Snape was a glutton for punishment and the thoughts coursing through his head demanded he acquiesce. So with a tired, listless movement he brought his wand to the surface of the globe and watched as the scene shifted, as a fourth year Granger with enormous teeth ran from him in tears. He watched as the fog shifted to show him brewing eleven different potions following Potter's ministry debacle, and saw himself deliver them to Poppy in the dead of night, only once he was sure no foolish brats would see his efforts. He saw himself look on at her sleeping form drenched in moonlight and knew that his thoughts weren't on the girl at all- That behind his occluded eyes all he could see was the cost of the coming war, rather than the actual casualty. He watched as he walked away, impervious to the girl's whimpering- the pain present even as she slumbered. When the globe shifted again and revealed the girl in Defence class, the first to silently disarm and stun her opponent, he saw without surprise as he sneered and walked away, silent to her accomplishment.

Oh, he knew he'd had his excuses. He had his role to play and it was more important than anything else. But watching now as the globe showed the girl splashing dittany across his open throat, shoving a potion in his mouth, Severus was filled with a burning shame.

Which didn't abate when the globe shifted to its final scene. The girl- no, woman, swathed in baggy lime green robes fell to her knees as though in slow motion, her face covered in tears and glinting eerily in the dim shadows of the night.

And Severus knew.

If he'd ever been a second chance with Miss Granger- a chance to make amends for how he'd been forced to treat her- it was long past. He couldn't see any way the girl would forgive him now. Casting the orb aside with a dull thunk, Severus' eyes shifted to the wad of notes on the corner of the workbench.

Annotations, corrections, notes for improvements.

Why bother continuing when the girl was likely to hurl it all back in his face?

No. Severus had no business worming his way into the chit's forgiveness. There wasn't enough research in the world, surely. He'd stop this pathetic attempt now. Stop pretending he had any chance to earn her respect- earn the friendship that those damnable letters had offered.

He would take her research back.

Tell her he'd made a few slight amendments, against his better judgement.

Then he'd slither back to his how- and drown himself in the bottom of a bottle.

It was all that he deserved.

Gathering the research off the table, he carefully included his own notes at the front. He'd made up his mind. He'd fetch his cloak, and against all his wishes, return to the Burrow.

* * *

George had jumped up from his spot and looked to Hermione, the distress clear on his face.

"I'm sorry, I've got to go to mum. She wouldn't have meant anything 'Mione."

"Go, It's okay. Tell her… tell her I'm sorry."

Because she was. This all came back to her. The seconds seemed to pass Hermione then in an agonising trickle, the tableau before her slowed as though the figures of her friends moved through treacle. She was numb as she watched George apparate away. Harry was whispering something to Dennis and the boy soon followed George with nothing but a swift nod and a muffled crack. Ginny had now turned to Harry, her hushed tones quick and concise.

"Hermione? Harry and I are going to go to Diagon Alley. We'll be seen there and we'll have an excuse for not releasing the MLE squad from Grimauld Place. We'll try and buy you as much time as possible."

Hermione nodded at the red head, her face unmistakably stricken as Harry enveloped her in a fierce hug. Burying her nose into the warm fabric of his home made jumper, Hermione was struck with the thought that this was goodbye. She wouldn't see her friends until all of this was over. Ginny tacitly gave the pair a moment before wrapping Hermione in her own, equally welcome embrace.

"Babe, you'll be fine. You're Hermione Granger."

Hermione nodded even as she wondered where the girl's stout confidence stemmed from- as she wondered if the girl truly believed her own words. Because Hermione didn't feel like anything other than a scared twenty-year old and she certainly didn't feel fine as she watched Harry take his girlfriends hand and apparate away.

_You'll be fine. You're Hermione Granger._

_Phone in my hand. File in my bag. _

_A shitty plan of attack written on a transfigured WWW flier. _

_And nowhere to go. _

"Hermione, I don't have time to check with my contacts- I can't just send you off with a name and a vague hope they'll help. They might send you straight back if you go by yourself..."

Hermione realised what the man was saying just before he said it.

"Kingsley, you need to stay here. You're our only political support. If you leave the country they'll take it as a sign of guilt and they might charge you for damages to St Mungo's. We'll lose our voice in the Wizengamot, and then even if we can prove beyond reasonable doubt that the law does more harm than good, we wont have anyway to introduce it to the cabinet."

The man had only received his spot on the hallowed benches following his interim ministership, but he'd retained the position for his efforts during the war- not to mention that the few people not bought out by Burges supported Kingsley whole heartedly. Even if the wizard lost his job for his involvement rescuing and aiding a fugitive, he would retain his position on the council. One did not have to be a ministry employee to be a part of the Wizengamot council- and to expel a member a full vote had to be undertaken, something that was likely to be a drawn out affair and result in Kingsley's pardon rather than expulsion.

As Kingsley looked on at Hermione with troubled eyes, Fleur stalked across the room.

"I think I can help." The very pregnant Fleur looked calm and controlled as she strode across the room, immune to the anxiety now draining away the air of the room, clawing up the sides of Hermione's chair and threatening to engulf the tightness of her chest. As she crossed to the mantle place, her unhurried tone continued. "Mama sent it for me so I could go an' visit, but shortly after we 'found out I was pregnant."

Hermione's brow was drawn in confusion as the pregnant witch handed her an empty ink well.

"Witches shouldn't travel by Portkey when they're with child. It needs to be re enchanted, but it will take you to my parents home in Troupeau, Payre. They will hide you."

Hermione looked down at the ink well in her hand, and knew this was the best hope she had.

* * *

George didn't know what to expect as he apparated ont the front lawn of the Burrow, but for some reason the quiet dusk air that surrounded him put him on edge. Shouldn't there be some outward sign of calamity? Someone had just hexed his mother. Rushing inside and straight to the Kitchen, George quickly chided himself. He'd forgotten they weren't at war and that people didn't get brutally murdered in their homes- anymore. His mother stood by the sink, the kitchen a buzz with the angry tinges of her magic, the potato's peeling themselves with angry slashes and the pots on the stove gurgling and hissing like manifestations of his mothers ire.

"Mum! Are you alright, I just-"

"Fine dear. I'm fine. Dinner won't be long."

"Mum, Ron said you'd just been attacked, I-"

"Attacked? By that ministry toady? Incapacitated. I've told your father about it. He's put in a complaint at work don't you worry. Who this ministry thinks it is. I've a right mind. But no. Mustn't upset anything. I know you've just come from your brothers."

George wasn't ready for the savvy glare that had taken root on his mothers face as she brandished a bread knife at him.

"I hope you'll tell our Hermione, I never meant no harm. She brought that lot into my house, but I wont have it said I blame her. George, don't get yourself into trouble, but if you can, help her. I want this law ousted as much as the rest of you. The sooner, the better. Then she can come home, and all of this can be done with."

George only nodded at his mother. She was as fierce as ever and he didn't envy Hermione the task of making peace with the woman once this was indeed 'done with.' He knew his mum had her faults but it didn't stop George quickly wrapping his arm around her shoulders and giving a quick squeeze. There was no danger and perhaps he hadn't need to rush straight home, in fa-

The wards of the house flickered and the Gnomes outside gave up the typical racket that broadcasted someone making their way up the lawn. Before bothering to tell his mum to get back- as if she'd listen- George made his way to the front door, his wand drawn and a stunner at the ready. With the gravel crunching under his feet, George made it three steps out of the door before recognizing the figure swiftly walking up the path. He'd dropped his arm in shock, before his defenses caught up with him.

Surely this was a trick.

"Professor Snape."

At least he hoped it wasn't Snape because the old sod was probably about to curse his nads off for not lowering his wand.

"In your fourth year I gave you and your brother three detentions disemboweling horned toads for stealing a Hogwarts toilet seat."

Fuck, it was Snape. George couldn't hide his relief as he lowered his wand.

"Couldn't be too sure Professor. What can I do for you?"

As the man finally stepped close enough, George began to examine him in he light pouring out from the Burrow. He was thinner than he'd ever been at Hogwarts, and at the moment his hair was a terrible greasy mess, hanging long and limp against his sallow skin. His eyes had dark bags beneath them and George would have better a good ten gallons the man hadn't slept for a week. In short, not the best looking bloke around.

"I need to speak with Miss Granger."

* * *

As soon as her name had passed his lips, the Weasley boys face had turned to stone, and Severus found himself at the receiving end of a steely glare.

"She's out at the moment."

_The witch obviously hated him enough to blacken his name at the Weasleys then. _

_Not that your name would be hard to blacken- Murderer, Death Eater, Scum._

"I'm sure." The sneer that came to his face was automatic, and the defence seemed to unsettle the boy. "I don't care what she has or hasn't said about me- or your sniveling opinions. I have her research here and-"

"Wait, her research?" The boy had dropped his offended gaze but he still seemed uneasy around his former teacher.

"Yes, for Memory Retrieval." He replied curtly, taking any opening that would let him inside to approach the girl.

"That's not possible." Severus frowned at the boy's emphatic tone. "I saw that, those notes were in ashes. She couldn't repair them."

The urge to repeat the boy's story was on the tip of his tongue but instead Severus raised an eye brow and hoped silence would force the whelp to make sense.

"That is, I mean…there was an accident and my brother, well it was magical fire you see… she lost all her research."

_Ronald Weasley burnt her notes? Why was the girl with that buffoon. Honestly what was the point of helping her with the research if that moron could burn their progress in no more than a minutes work._

_When had it become 'their research." _

_Her research. _

"Mr Weasley, If you could just take me inside, I'm sure Miss Granger would be more than happy to be reacquainted with her research- She'd left it in a book I'd lent her, that I came to retrieve on my last… visit.

_Would one term the drama of last time as a visit?_

"She's, I meant it when I said she wasn't here." The boy looked at him appraisingly then seemed to decide on something.

"Let me see the research."

Severus raised his eyebrow again at being commanded thus. He was torn between a desire to hex the boy and search for Granger himself, but decided it would be nice perhaps, to have a 'visit' devoid of devastation.

He stiffly held out the research in front of him, all the while glaring at the boy, daring him to analyze his victory. Clearly the boy had no thoughts of trumping him on his mind- as is the case with most Gryffindor's the boys face was plastered with his every thought as he crowded over the outstretched notes.

Recognition. Hope. Then despair.

_Despair?_

"Come with me. She might kill me, and if she doesn't Kingsley will. But Hermione will want this before she leaves."

"Before she leaves?"

"She's leaving the country. Tonight. Quick, I'll explain later."

Severus looked down at the Gryffindor's outstretched hand and remained perfectly still. Side along apparition with no mention of the destination? The girl mysteriously leaving the country right this very minute? Sure the boy didn't believe Severus would put himself in his less than capable hands with so little impetus.

"Sir, If you want to get these to Hermione, you need to trust me. We're going to Bill and Fleur's house, Shell Cottage."

It was only as Severus re-examined the boys face, painted with truth and devoid of guile, that he noticed it. The gash on the side of his hear where his ear should be. Where Severus had cursed it off. He didn't regret it- not when he'd saved Lupin's life. But looking at it now Severus realized all the reasons the boy had to do him harm, to cause him pain. If not something as shallow as his ear, than misplaced anger at the loss of his brother.

And yet, it was that realization, that the boy should blame him, should turn him away, that made Severus take his outstretched arm. Even as he was pulled into the discomforting pull of apparition, he was unsure if his trust was well founded.

He supposed he would find out.

* * *

Emmanuel had just left the Floo Network office when the Howler came. The few onlookers still moving through the corridor spotted the tell tale red envelope and wasted no time running for the hills. The howler simply dropped at his feet and before he could reach to retrieve it, it had burst promptly into flames.

"My office. Now."

Emmanuel stood exactly as he was for a further five seconds gazing in the direction of the Floo office before sighing and swinging around, stalking back the way he'd come. He tried not to spend the elevator ride wandering just what happened to the people Teddy Burges spared a Howler for. No. Emmanuel was still the best man in Teddy's ranks. The shambles at Mungo's wouldn't change that. They needed him. If they were releasing their marriage law tomorrow, they needed him more than ever.

Stepping out of the elevator and walking through the black-glassed brick corridor, Emmanuel knew he was safe. Knocking smartly on the ebony wooden door, he refused to be anything but calm. Waiting for it to open he reviewed the facts of the scenarios and rehearsed- No! Not rehearsed. He had nothing to be nervous about. He simply let the logic of his actions run through his mind once more. Everything so far had been considered, every reaction to the girl measure and weighed.

"Enter."

Emmanuel swallowed before opening the door and entering the dimmed office. Unlike Dawlish' Ministers office just down the hall, there was no beurocratic fastidiousness. A slew of both open and closed files sat upon the desk top, piled and separated in a complicated array that made sense only to the man who commanded it.

When Emmanuel had been at Hogwarts he'd admittedly given in to the adolescent folly of titles and nicknames. He'd given one of his classmates the rather uninspired name of Merlin, after the dolt came last in every single one of his classes and that name had stuck. He'd been given his own name in turn of course. The Hawk. It had originally set out to be a slander, an unflattering reference to his conquest of nearly all the forms witches- irrespective of house. But he'd rather liked it, to be honest. It was a fitting tribute to his house, and of course, his place in it. A hawk among the ravens.

But if Emmanuel was a Hawk, Theodore Burges was a Vulture. He didn't spot an opportunity, didn't hunt or stalk his prey. He simply sensed these things, and got himself into a prime position before even the target knew it was done for.

And that was without his gold. See, that's what people mistook about the man. They assumed the chains of his command sprouted in his pockets, winding themselves around the necks of prey while glinting like the finest gold. But Emmanuel knew better, there was very little a hawk missed after all. Theodore Burges didn't lead men to the gallows; he plucked them from the hangman's grasp. Why buy a noose when there's one there for the taking.

Debt could be created from more than gold, and favours were worth twice their weight in the substance.

Which is why Emmanuel never wanted to owe the man a favour. The gold he was paid was heavy enough. Sitting down at the uncomfortable square chair before the cluttered desk, Emmanuel patiently kept his mouth shut and waited for the figure standing at the other side of the office, facing out the magical window. The Magical maintenance workers had decided it was raining today apparently. Emmanuel tried to ignore the ominous sense of pathetic fallacy- after all the entire concept was a ridiculous muggle notion.

"Forty five."

Emmanuel kept stock still as the man continued.

"You've diverted 45 officials in less than 24 hours."

Emmanuel waited until he was asked a direct question, watching as the thin man turned and slid into his own leather-backed seat. The wizard was at least 60 but the age he wore lined upon his face, in the skin haning limply from his pronounced cheek bones and hooded eyes, that age added an extra year for every pile of gold and every bought man.

Which amounted to a lot of extra years.

"Tell me, I know you're a sensible man, is the Granger girl a sincere threat to our cause, or are you merely incompetent?"

"Sit, if the devastation at St Mungo's shows anything-"

"-It shows the need for subtlety."

Emmanuel kept his mouth shut once more. One did not talk back to Teddy Burges.

"25 law enforcement officers dispatched from regular duty to haunt the home of _war hero Harry Potter_ is not subtle."

"No sir. But it's the most efficient. I picked the men myself. They're yours through and through. Granger will be brought in by nightfall. If she can't leave the country, she's no longer a threat to us. We can convince her-"

"She's probably out of the country already."

"Sir, the men left four hours ago and-"

"-and they're currently trapped in Grimauld Place. Which rather makes the twelve men you deferred for St Mungo's this morning and the six men chasing up leads in Admin Services all for nought. Not to mention the two men directly beneath you who have now been transferred to Azkaban as I understand it?"

Emmanuel took in this new information with lightening speed and felt his stomach drop. He mouth opened of its own accord but he had no words to fill it with. The older man sighed and surveyed Emmanuel from somewhere beneath those hooded eyes.

"You're a smart lad. But you've no subtlety. And I need subtlety."

Emmanuel couldn't believe this was happening. No. They needed him.

"Sir, you're releasing the law in a matter of hours. You need-"

"I need men who don't presume they're cleverer than me. Which is why tomorrow morning you'll report to Law Enforcement. From now on you'll be reporting your every movement. In advance."

Emmanuel struggled to swallow down the bitter taste left in his mouth.

"And what will I be doing sir?"

"Dealing this our Granger problem. Wherever she goes, you find her, understand?"

Emmanuel didn't have to fake his determined nod, nor his resolute exit from the office. He'd find her all right. And when he did he wouldn't need forty-five men to deal with her either.

* * *

Hermione took the ink well gingerly, and then turned to Kingsley, waiting for his opinion.

"They'll piece it together, eventually." The man's eyes were shadowed, as though he were running through the various implications. "That you left from Fleur's house. That she has family in France."

"I rather think you overestimate your ministry." Fleur said haughtily, but Kingsley continued to look troubled.

"It's the best we have." Hermione tried not to let the desperation show in her voice, but it bled through all the same.

"You can't stay there for more than a few days." Kingsley finally relented. "Move to a city. Find a muggle place. Contact us as soon as you can."

The anxiety Hermione felt crawling through the room had crept up onto her skin, and seemed intent on drowning her. She could only nod, swallowing to keep her throat open and trying desperately to gather her strengths. She was a Gryffindor. She could speak French. She had a plan and now she had somewhere to go. It was going to be okay.

"Have you ever spelled a Portkey before? It will have to be you. Since it was already an authorised Portkey, there shouldn't be an alert, but just in case."

"I've read about them" Hermione recalled everything she'd poured over in the library on her return in her fourth year. She was confident she could translate the theory into practice.

_After all, what use would being a know-it-all be otherwise?_

"Set it for a minute from now."

Hermione nodded, then firmly gripped her wand in her hand. With her mind fiercely concentrating, the incantation came out as barely a whisper.

"_Portus_"

For a heart stopping moment the ink well remained perfectly still. There was no change evident. Then is pulsed an electric blue and Hermione understood.

She had one minute left. Looking around the room she tried to nod reassuringly to Kingsley, tried to express her thanks to Fluer and Bill. But before the thoughts of how to say Goodbye had half formed in her mind, Bill abruptly stood.

"The wards. Someone just apparated here."

Kingsley left her side without warning and Bill soon followed. Fleur looked torn between joining her husband, and protecting her unborn child. Hermione was struck with the force of her own heart as it beat savagely in her breast, counting out the seconds.

She was so close.

She didn't know whether to strain her ears for the sounds outside, or shut her mind from anything but the ink well now clutched in her sweaty hands.

Surely it had been a minute.

Surely there were only a few minutes left.

The sound of voices rang through the corridor and Hermione's head spun to take in the form of Kingsley striding towards her, two figures trailing behind him. As the Portkey tugged blue, Hermione recognised the shocking red hair of George, his face a mask of dismay and beside him-

No, it couldn't-

Before Hermione had time to take the scene in, to recognise the tall, dark wizard who couldn't possibly be there, the ink well wrenched her roughly from the room and hurled her by the navel into the spinning void of space.

* * *

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed, and I hope it clarified some of the concerns you had re. Emmanuel. I always think rogue agents are scarier than those who are held accountable for their actions. Also: if you don't understand something or don't like parts of the story, please point them out to me and make your explanations clear. I am terribly hard to offend and I welcome constructive criticism wholeheartedly. Thank you all for you reviews on the last few chapters and sorry for the delay- this was chapter simply wasn't co-operating.


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